


Dragons are Better than People

by asilentherald



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Fluff, Frozen AU, Inspired by Frozen (2013), Inspired by a Movie, Light Angst, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentherald/pseuds/asilentherald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot, has been looking forward to the day his sister Morgana would finally be crowned Queen, even if he hasn't seen her in ten long years. For the first time in forever, the gates to Camelot are open. Everything's about to change and Arthur's more than ready for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So for this story, we're going to pretend Camelot is situated the same way Arendelle is in Frozen – on an island/peninsula in the heart of fjord country, surrounded by mountains. Just go with it. 
> 
> This was a fantastically fun fic to write, even if it turned out to be much more challenging (and ultimately rewarding) than I though it'd be. HUGE thanks to the marvelous and long-suffering M for putting up with my thousand questions regarding this fic (and every other fic I write and send to her, but this one made me particularly nag-like). 
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

Merlin remembered the night the King brought his kids into the forest and begged the Sidhe elders for help. He couldn’t have been older than the children themselves, and Aithusa was barely up to Merlin’s knee back then. The skies were bright with the northern lights, the air thick with the winter gathered around the scared little girl with big shining eyes, clinging to her father’s leg.

“Born with the powers or cursed?” the Sidhe elder asked, peering at the girl.

“Born, and getting stronger,” replied King Uther. The elder turned his attention to the smaller child cradled in his arms, a boy with golden hair marred by a streak of white. Merlin’s chest – his magic, really – clenched at the sight; there was something very wrong with him.

“You are lucky it wasn’t the heart. The head can be persuaded,” said the elder, running his hands over the boy’s forehead. “I suggest we remove all memories of magic.”

“Arthur won’t remember I have powers?” the girl asked, her voice quivering.

“It’s for his own good, Morgana,” the King said, his voice unnecessarily sharp. Merlin humphed and glared at him from behind the bush.

“Don’t worry,” the elder said, smiling at her, “we’ll keep the fun.”

There may have been warnings, to which Merlin should’ve paid attention, as his own magic had started acting up since the Sidhe elder began working on the boy – on Arthur – but he suddenly found himself surrounded by Sidhe of all ages.

A miniscule fairy hopped and latched onto one of his ears.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. The Sidhe hanging onto him giggled before letting go. He scowled at it, but the little fairy only grinned.

Another Sidhe smiled at him happily.

“Oh, aren’t you adorable! We’re going to keep you,” she declared. Merlin groaned, though he didn’t mind the food they gave him that night, and they treated him very kindly. So Merlin stayed, and he never forgot the King and his children.

* * *

Arthur ran down the barren halls, heading yet again for Morgana’s rooms. He knew she never wanted to come out and play with him anymore, but it was his birthday. She  _had_ to do it today. He skidded to a stop, his socks sliding on the slick hardwood floor. He could barely reach the doorknob, even when he stood on the tips of his toes.

“Morgana!” he shouted. “Come on! It’s time to play!”

As usual, there was no response.

“Please? It’s my birthday. You didn’t forget, did you?”

Still, silence.

“Morgana!” he shouted even more loudly.

“Arthur!”

He jumped back from the door. Uther swept down the hall and scooped him up into his arms, half over his shoulder.

“Dad! No, wait—” he wailed.

“Morgana is unwell today,” he said quietly. “She needs to sleep.”

“Oh. Can I go stay with her? She must be lonely in there,” Arthur asked.

“No,” Uther said. “The illness might catch.”

He took one look at Arthur’s face and softened.

“It’s for the best. She’ll be better soon,” Uther said. He smoothened down Arthur’s hair, smiling. Uther shifted his grip on Arthur and started walking again. “How about I come play with you, hmm?”

“Really?” Arthur asked, suddenly excited. His father never offered to play with him.

“Absolutely,” Uther grinned. “Let’s get some warm clothes and go out in the snow. Would you like that?”

Arthur nodded feverishly.

“Excellent.”

He placed Arthur on the ground and told him to wait in the foyer for him. Arthur watched Uther go back into the palace, calling for a servant as he went. Arthur ran to the window and looked out at the gently falling slow. He was so preoccupied he didn’t hear the servants telling Uther there were urgent matters that just came up and he was needed with the council immediately.

Arthur waited until the sky was dark and he was curled up in the corner of the window seat. He eventually fell asleep in spite of the cold permeating through the glass. Someone returned him to his bed, fixed the hair on his brow, and kissed his forehead. Arthur thought he heard a murmured apology, but it was incomprehensible when he was so tired, and so sad.

* * *

Uther never volunteered to play with Arthur in Morgana’s stead again, and Arthur never asked.

Morgana, though – he kept asking and knocking for years until he was simply pausing at her door, wondering what he’d done to make her hate him so much.

Some of the servants took pity on the prince, but Arthur was well aware he wasn’t the most pleasant of people to be around, especially after trying for Morgana and failing – which was always the case. He was merciless with a wooden sword and climbed trees competitively to a fault. As the years went on, Arthur noticed the servants stopped playing with him. A little late he figured it was due to how unkind he was to them at times. They weren’t Morgana; they were never going to be as good at her at any of their games, and it was downright funny, and aggravating, to see them try. They apparently got the message.

Arthur was, quite simply, alone. Morgana continued to hate him, and the servants clearly cared little for him beyond what their jobs required, not that Arthur expected more of them at this point. He not only reasoned they weren’t worth his time in the end but figured it was only natural for them to want to stay away. He was meant to be alone; no one really wanted him around, least of all his father and sister.

Loneliness, however, didn’t suit Arthur, especially at the difficult and turbulent age of thirteen.

People started catching his eye in ways he’d never considered before. His body was changing rapidly and Arthur had no one to consult about all the changes. The servants who constantly attended him told him bits and pieces of information, but he never outright asked, so he never got any real answers. They were the only servants talking to him regularly at that point in time, but they hardly had a choice in the matter, Arthur recognized. He did his best not to look at the men and women around him – even _he_ knew it wasn’t right to want something like that from people he had power over; when no one seemed to vie for his attention anyway, he only withdrew even further. His target – a sack stuffed with hay and plated in old armor stuck on a stick in the garden – was easily his closest companion.

Not long before Arthur turned fourteen Uther called him into his study. The back door was just closing as Arthur entered the room.

“I’m heading to Mercia tomorrow morning,” said Uther, placing a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “but when I return, there are matters we ought to start discussing.”

“Like what?”

“Things a father should tell his son, and things you must be aware of as a prince,” Uther replied. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder and started backing away. “There’s no time for that now, though. Run along.”

“I’ll see you in two weeks, father?”

Arthur hated the pleading edge that came out in his voice.

“Absolutely,” Uther promised.

Even the King of Camelot was wrong from time to time, Arthur learned. He remembered this while standing before his cairn atop one of the mountains overlooking Camelot and her fjords. He touched the runes carved into stone, tracing his father’s name. He looked around him. In all the mourners present, he only searched for one – for Morgana. He wasn’t even sure he’d recognize her after all those years apart, but it didn’t matter. She clearly wasn’t there.

Arthur knocked on her door when he returned to the palace.

“Morgana? I know you’re there,” Arthur called.

There was no answer.

“People are asking where you’ve been. I can’t hold them off much longer. I don’t know what I’m doing out here!”

“I need you,” he said. His voice broke after long hours of staying strong for the crowds.

He received no response, even at that.

That was the last thing Arthur wanted to admit, the last thing he wanted to feel at all – to need someone who so clearly didn’t need or want him – but it was true. It was his last resort at getting Morgana to open up, and it had completely failed.

He finally saw that nothing he could do would work, and Morgana simply didn’t want him there. Arthur was suddenly sick of feeling like no one ever did want him around and no one ever would.

In a fit of frustration he gripped the doorknob and nearly turned it, but he pulled back instantly. It was cold as ice. His hand throbbed a little as it warmed back up. His heart stung all over again, as though this was the first rejection from his sister all over again. Arthur stuffed his hands into his pockets and backed away until he saw he really had no reason being there.


	2. Three Years Later...

“Prince Arthur? It’s time to get up.”

George’s voice filtered the door. He understood his words rather belatedly. Arthur sat up abruptly, his eyes already drooping shut again the moment he tried to look around the bright room.

“Prince Arthur?”

“What?” he said. He sounded too loud to his ears. “I’m up. I’ve been up for hours.”

After what felt like another ten minutes but was probably a couple of seconds, he opened his eyes. George was standing over his bed looking terribly unimpressed. Arthur failed to extricate himself from the pillows yet again.

“Sire, it’s your sister’s coronation day,” he said, giving Arthur a vaguely disapproving look.

“Coronation,” he blinked. The word registered slowly, then all at once. Arthur bolted out of bed.

_Finally!_

He was dressed and ready to face the crowds of Camelot in record time, much to the amusement of his servants. They smiled at him fondly as they fussed with his hair, which Arthur normally wouldn’t have minded terribly much; today, he wanted to be done with the preening and preparing as quickly as possible.

The gates were open, and Arthur didn’t plan on wasting a moment of that day.

He bounded through the halls, feeling alive in the bright natural light streaming in through the open windows. Arthur skidded to a stop in the middle of one of the halls on his way to the grand staircase. He climbed up on the window seat, just like he used to do when he was much younger, and peered out at Camelot. Most of the palace’s sprawl lay behind him, but he could still see the courtyard and the lower buildings. He’d never seen the place thrumming with so much life, even within the palace. He spun around at the sound of doors opening and watched a train of servants walk by with towers of dinner plates in their arms. It was like blood had been pumped back into the empty arteries of Camelot, and it was all because of the gates being open for the first time in _so_ long.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window as he looked out at the people lining up to enter the palace. Like him, everyone wore finery and curious, bright smiles as they came closer to the gates. It was a momentous day for Camelot and everyone was prepared to revel in it in every way possible.

Somewhere in the palace Morgana was surely preparing for the ceremony, surely looking out at the crowds, too.

Arthur caught his reflection again, no longer smiling, his lips thin and his eyes just a little sadder than before. He drew back from the window and headed down the hall.

The bannister was sleek, freshly cleaned and shining in the light coming in through the open windows – and just _begging_ Arthur to slide down. Arthur wasn’t about to pass up that chance, annoyed servants be damned. By the time he reached the bottom and landed deftly on his feet a ways away from the staircase, Arthur felt lighter than he had in ages. He wound through the groups of servants bustling about the massive, normally dark and empty rooms of the palace.

“It’s so much bigger with the light,” he said to himself, looking down on the foyer of the palace from the second floor landing.

“It is,” a passing servant agreed. He sounded elated. “It’s going to be a good day, Prince Arthur. Just you wait and see!”

“Oh, it will. I’m sure of it,” he said, beaming at the man. He looked surprised to see Arthur smiling back. Arthur shrugged and bounded down the stairs.

He knew his reputation for being a bit… surly and short with the staff, especially after the death of the king. But today? Today he had no reason to be unkind or unhappy. Today was the day Arthur had been waiting for since he was a little boy, back when he actually saw her more than a handful of times in ten long years.

Arthur’s heart thumped with nervous excitement at the thought of seeing Morgana again later. He hadn’t even tried to see her since the day of their father’s funeral. But it was going to be okay. He was ready for this. He _knew_ it.

He had to be.

Arthur stepped out into the courtyard where some of the commoners were already starting to settle for the festivities. The sun was warm, and the people around him were even warmer. Arthur felt _alive_ in a way he never had in the palace. No sword fighting with his manservants or climbing trees in the garden would replace the feeling of being outside with _real people_.

He could hear Morgana’s chiding words – _servants are absolutely real people! Honestly, Arthur, think before you open that big mouth of yours._

At least, that’s how he imagined Morgana would respond. He remembered her adoring the servants when they were young, treating them with just as much consideration as he afforded Arthur. Her closest friend other than Arthur had been her maidservant, Gwen, a tiny dark girl with a halo of curly brown hair. Arthur hadn’t seen her in years either.

Arthur pushed Morgana out of his mind and took off at a run through the crowds. The town of Camelot was alive in ways Arthur never would’ve fathomed from his lookout spots in various towers of the palace. The people always looked small and slow moving from afar, so he guessed it was just as sleepy as the palace. He was so glad to be wrong, for once. The market was bursting with colors and sounds and smells. He inhaled a nose-full of spices and sputtered.

“Oi! Don’t cough on my goods!” the vendor snapped. Arthur slipped away before the man could catch up to him.

He wound through the streets, his skin warmed by the bright summer sun hanging overhead. The crowds jostled him as he went, every road bursting with people of all ages heading in the opposite direction – for the palace and its open gates. They all talked loudly and happily, laughing constantly. He’d never seen anything like it; at best Arthur caught a few maids giggling in a corner before dispersing at the sight of him. Arthur found himself grinning hugely, their joy utterly infectious.

Arthur took off down an alley that opened onto the docks. There were a dozen foreign ships parked in Camelot’s harbor. Arthur recognized the flags of kingdoms with which Camelot regularly traded, though there were a few which Arthur didn’t know.

He was so busy studying the ships he didn’t even notice where he was walking or what had blocked his path and nearly bowled him over. Protests died in his throat when he caught sight of the horse rearing on its hind legs and almost lobbing Arthur’s head off. He reached up, taking the reins from its rider, and began soothing the panicked horse. The creature slowly calmed down, its rider still clinging to the horse tensely.

“Easy there,” Arthur murmured. The horse neighed and nudged his face contentedly. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Arthur looked up from the horse at its rider and all the air in his lungs seem to disappear. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, lined with sunlight, her hair falling in strawberry-gold waves around her lovely, soft face. She smiled at him wryly. Arthur quickly released the horse and stopped staring at her.

“I’m sorry for my horse. She’s easily spooked by crowds,” the woman continued, smoothening out the horse’s mane with a dainty, gloved hand. Her voice was like silk. “I didn’t mean to nearly trample you.”

“I’m okay. Are you alright, my lady?”

“Very much so,” she said, hesitating. She smiled prettily at him.

“Oh. Er – I’m Arthur. Prince Arthur of Camelot,” he said hastily. _Shit. This is harder than talking with the King of Mercia over salmon._

“Prince Arthur! Oh, dear. I’m _so_ sorry for – all of that.”

“It’s forgotten,” he said, sounding much smoother than he felt. “What’s your name?”

“Princess Sophia of Tir-Mor,” she replied, bowing her head.

“I—”

The bells ringing in the chapel ringing cut Arthur off.

“Shit. I – I have to go. It was very nice meeting you, Sophia,” Arthur said. He backed right into a lamppost. _Shit_. She was laughing but she didn’t seem to find him stupid for it. In fact, she looked pleased, her expression soft as she smiled at him. He turned around and ran, knowing his face was burning as brightly as the sun, but still feeling lighter than air.

* * *

Morgana stood with her back straight as the minister spoke the final words in Latin. Her hands were starting to shake, the ice already forming on the orb and scepter. She dropped them on the pillow the moment the last syllable left his lips. She slipped the gloves back on and forced a composed expression onto her face. She could feel Arthur’s eyes on her, glancing from her face to the gloves. She took a slow, deep breath. The procession out of the chapel was beginning, bringing Morgana another step closer to the end of the day.

She found herself standing before a much bigger crowd in the ballroom later that night after several hours of greeting and speaking with citizens of Camelot. They all smiled politely at her, but she saw none of the awe the used to afford her father. The respect, yes, but Morgana suspected it had more to do with the crown on her head than her actual person. They regarded her more with curiosity than anything else. Some complemented her on her healthy, fair complexion, others on her ceremonial dress. All expressed how glad they were that the gates were open. All waited to see how she’d respond to their words.

She hated to disappoint them by closing them again at the end of the night, but there was no other way. Her flustered magic made her hands itch under the gloves.

“Presenting Queen Morgana of Camelot,” said Geoffrey to the crowd. He paused, then led Arthur, who arrived a moment late to the ballroom, directly beside Morgana, “and Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

The music began shortly after the presentation. Arthur stood with his back as straight as Morgana’s, looking out at the crowd with poorly veiled interest.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Oh. Hello, Morgana,” he said. He looked at her after he spoke and blinked owlishly at her. It almost made Morgana laugh.

“The party’s rather marvelous, isn’t it?” she went on. She felt like she was grasping at straws with him. She hadn’t thought it’d be so hard.

“It’s incredible,” Arthur breathed. His stiffness fell away immediately. “Something smells fantastic.”

“Chocolate,” Morgana agreed, smiling at Arthur. “It’s a bit warmer than I thought.”

“Yeah. Lots of people moving about, pretending to know how to dance.”

Morgana laughed before she realized what was happening. Arthur laughed, too, looking extremely pleased, his cheeks tinged with pink.

“I love this,” he said, his voice earnest and gentle. Morgana blinked at him now. “It’s better this way, isn’t it?”

“It’s wonderful,” she said slowly.

“Can’t it be like this all the time, then?” he asked.

She stopped in her tracks. It _would_ be, but there was so much Arthur didn’t understand and never would understand. The light caught the faint white streak of hair sweeping along the side of Arthur’s forehead.

“It can’t be,” Morgana finally said, breaking eye contact with her brother. “It just can’t, Arthur.”

“But—”

“Leave it, Arthur,” she said sharply. His eyes went wide. He looked so young, even younger than his tender sixteen years, until his face shuttered off. Then he looked more like their father than he ever had in all Morgana’s memories of Arthur. She turned away clutching her hands to her chest, terrified of seeing the constant fear and disappointment she’d learned to see in her father’s eyes reflected back at her in Arthur’s.

She barely heard him excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

* * *

“Prince Arthur.”

Arthur spun around. Sophia was there, smiling up at him, offering a glass of champagne.

“I’m glad to have found you,” she went on. Arthur couldn’t help but smile back at her. She had such a lovely, kind look about her. He barely remembered why he’d wandered away from the front of the ballroom in the first place, or why he’d been on the verge of upset.

“Me too,” he said. He looked around the room. Everyone was busy sweet-talking various dignitaries and minor royals. Arthur couldn’t even see Morgana from where he stood. No one would miss him, least of all his sister.

“Would you like to take a walk in the gardens?” he asked Sophia.

“I’d love that.”

* * *

Her lips were soft as Arthur imagined, her hands wonderfully firm where they were planted on his chest. Arthur felt his stomach fall out of his gut the moment her lips touched his skin. It was as incredible as the servants claimed it was, he thought. Sophia looked just as pleased when she drew back.

“Shall we keep walking? The night is young,” she said, nodding further out into the gardens.

Arthur nodded feverishly and almost had to hurry to keep up with her, her hair shining in the bright moonlight like a beacon. He followed as though drawn by a thread.

* * *

“I feel like you understand me, Arthur, better than anyone I’ve ever met,” Sophia said. They were sitting on a ledge overlooking the gardens. She was tucked into his side, her body warm against his.

“I feel that way, too,” Arthur said, looking at her and feeling everything go soft around them.

They’d traded stories of lonely childhoods in barren palaces with absent and unkind siblings who evidently cared little for them. Arthur felt his hurt and anger with Morgana grow and sting more sharply the longer he was away from the palace. Sophia made everything clear and easy in ways Morgana never did.

“Let’s promise never to let our families make us unhappy again,” she said, sitting up suddenly.

“How do you propose we do that?” Arthur asked, frowning.

She glanced at him coyly, something suggestive in the way she angled her body toward him and looked at him through her eyelashes.

“If we were to marry, you’d be free of your sister, and I’d finally have a place I could call home. A _person_ I could call home,” she added. She knelt, standing taller than Arthur where he sat. She angled his face toward her, her touch like fire and lightning on his skin, wiping any and all logic and sense from his mind, leaving him only with thoughts of _Sophia_.

“Then we shall marry,” Arthur murmured.

She kissed him joyfully, her happiness bleeding through him. He kissed back with vigor, his body waking with excitement, but Sophia quickly placed a hand on his chest and halted him.

“Later. There’ll be time later,” she said breathlessly, “when we have something softer than rocks to lie upon.”

Arthur nodded, grinning madly. He didn’t mind waiting.

* * *

Morgana stood at the front of the ballroom, still waiting for the never-ending line of dignitaries to run its course. Then Arthur barreled through the crowd with so much as a word of excuse, a dainty woman dressed in gold trailing in his wake with eerie grace. Her smile changed from cool to pleased as she looped her arm through Arthur’s.

“Morgana. Queen Morgana,” he added hastily. “This is Princess Sophia of Tir-Mor.”

“Ah. I remember your father,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Sophia said.

“We are to wed,” Arthur announced happily, “and we would like your blessing.”

Morgana stared at him.

“What?”

“Sophia and I are getting married,” he said, looking down at the woman dreamily. Morgana had to consciously stop her jaw from falling open and hanging.

“Arthur—”

“It’ll take several days to plan, but I’m certain our staff can manage it. We’ll have a great feast,” he assured her. Morgana felt her mouth drop further open in horror with every word he spoke. “I’ll make sure our rooms have the best views of the fjords, my love—”

“Arthur,” Morgana said sharply. She forced herself to stop wringing her hands. “Can I speak with you? Privately?”

Arthur’s smile transformed into a faint scowl. Morgana’s magic stung at the tips of her fingers. Something wasn’t right here.

“Whatever you want to say you can say it to us both,” he said. “Go on.”

Morgana sighed.

“Fine. You can’t marry someone you’ve only just met, Arthur.”

“Of course you can! Father had an arranged marriage; he hardly knew our mother before the ceremony.”

“They still had a courtship, and they’d met many times before,” Morgana said shortly. “You simply can’t do this.”

“You can if it’s true love!” Arthur snapped.

“True… love? What do you know of true love, Arthur? You’re sixteen!” she scoffed, feeling terribly tired all of a sudden. Arthur, however, looked like he’d just gotten a jolt of energy.

“More than you! You know nothing but how to – to shut people out!”

Morgana stared at him. She caught a glimpse of red in his bright blue eyes, confirming her fears of something less than natural at play. The woman’s magic was clearly feeding off whatever anger Arthur harbored toward her.

Knowing it was magic didn’t make Arthur’s words hurt less. She wrapped her arms around her waist and began to back away.

“You asked for my blessing and my answer is no.”

She caught a passing guard by the sleeve.

“Close the gates. The party is over,” she said. Her voice only began to crack on the last words.

“Morgana!” Arthur called.

“Not now,” she hissed.

“Morgana, don’t walk away from me! Why are you doing this? What the hell are you so scared of?” Arthur asked. She winced at the hurt sneer in his voice.

“You’re making a scene. Enough, Arthur,” Morgana said.

“No! Morgana, please, just—”

He grabbed her hand, but Morgana pulled too quickly. Arthur wrenched the glove away. She recoiled as though he’d torn off a layer of skin, clutching her hand to her chest.

“Give me my glove back,” she said.

“Is this really so bad, seeing me and all these other people? Has anything that horrible happened with the gates open?” he asked, ignoring her, his voice loud enough to attract attention from those immediately around them. Morgana looked around, hastily making for the clearest exit route. Arthur, however, pressed on, following her almost up to the door. Her head was pounding, pain pressing against her skull; she felt trapped in her own skin and itched to break free, to get away, to run away from this awful place and all the horrible _noise_.

And then there was Arthur, still demanding,

“What did I do to make you hate me so much? What are you so afraid of?”

“I said _enough!_ ” Morgana yelled.

Only when she pulled her hand back did she realize she’d thrown it out at all.

Only when the ice crackled and solidified did Morgana look up and see what she’d done, the horror and fear she’d inspired in the faces of everyone around her.

She backed up against the door, her heart hammering faster and faster, her gloved hand grasping for the door handle, too shaky to latch onto it.

“Sorcery,” one man declared. Whispers erupted, the faces of older people present twisting in disgust, their memories of old anti-magic sentiments from the early days of Uther’s reign still strong.

Morgana scanned the crowd. She caught sight of Arthur still clutching her black glove, his eyes wide. All the anger from before was gone. There wasn’t a hint of Sophia’s magic present either. But he still looked terrified – of _her_.

She shouldered the door open and sprinted away from the ballroom, not stopping until she hit the dense crowd in the main courtyard. Morgana barely heard their cheering and shouting at her appearance. She shoved her way through the masses, stumbling over cobblestones and eventually her own feet, hurtling into the edge of a fountain. Her magic shot forth upon contact with the stone, freezing the water in a terrible jagged curl of ice over their heads. The cheering turned to gasping and screaming. Space formed around her. Echoes of _sorcery_ filled the courtyard. Morgana looked around, begging for someone to look at her and _see_ – but they only saw the icy claw over her head.

“Morgana!” Arthur shouted. She looked over her shoulder. He was standing in the doorway, prepared to cut through the crowd.

It was her only chance. She needed to be sure no one would be hurt by what she could do. She had to keep Camelot – nay, _Arthur_ – safe, and while she was the biggest threat to everything she loved, Morgana only saw one option.

She fled. The fjords froze at her touch, the ice guiding her right out of Camelot and into the safety and pristine silence of the White Mountains. Morgana didn’t stop until she was far away, until the only noises around were her gradually slowing breaths, her heartbeat evening out, her loud staggered footsteps crunching through the snow.

Morgana hobbled uphill until she fell to her knees in the deep snow, the wind howling around her and whipping her carefully pinned hair into a great mess. She looked up at the sky and peered into the interminable night surrounding her. The air was fresh and cold high in the mountains. She breathed it in deeply until her heart rate slowed to a normal pace and she didn’t feel like a massive ball of tension. She relaxed, sinking a little into the snow.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she whispered. The wind carried away her words and dispersed them in the wilderness.

Her voice came out stronger the second time she spoke.

“I don’t want to fear what I can do. I can’t hide it any longer!”

Morgana jumped to her feet and started climbing up the mountain again. In a fit of frustration, she threw her gloves aside. The wind dragged them far out of reach. Morgana flexed her hands, the ends of her fingers shining with the magic she’d kept so carefully hidden and repressed. She let a little go and a tuft of glittering snow and ice materialized in her palm. She gasped at the sight. She’d never seen anything so beautiful, especially not something that came from her magic. Every time it’d acted up when she was afraid or anxious, the magic was bleak and frightening. Now, though, out there where no one could tell her to hide or urge her to keep _in control_ , she saw the great beauty she’d only ever conceived in the fairy tales of old.

Suddenly, she wasn’t so afraid of herself anymore.

Morgana let more magic free and felt the weight on her shoulders lift and lift, her steps becoming lighter and surer the further she climbed, until at the peak she found herself in a glittering ice palace, a product of her elated powers, overlooking the bright, hopeful dawn. Morgana breathed in the sweet clean air. She couldn’t see Camelot form where she stood overlooking the White Mountains, but Morgana wasn’t ready to see it.

She returned inside and shut the doors to her palace, leaving all thoughts of Camelot behind her.

* * *

“I’m going after her,” Arthur said as he watched the fjords freeze over. Sophia tried to rub some warmth into his shoulder but he barely felt her there. Arthur stood and started making his way back to the courtyard.

“Is there sorcery in you too, Prince Arthur? Are you a monster as well?” one foreign dignitary spat.

“No! I’m perfectly normal,” he frowned.

The crowd had erupted in chatter the moment the word _sorcery_ was spoken again. Arthur heard snippets of conversations, some saying that they were overreacting, others professing their strong feelings that Uther’s laws against magic should never have been removed. Arthur frowned; that was eighteen years ago. Uther had always claimed the reason was to create a more equal and free Camelot, so that his heirs might not carry on the practices made during a war long passed. Arthur thought of the many books in the back corner of the library filled with illustrations of dragons, fairies, trolls, and other fantastic creatures amid descriptions of histories interweaved with those of humans and the Pendragons themselves. They never struck Arthur as purely storybooks then, no matter what his father said, and now he knew his gut instinct had probably been right.

“Her magic is dangerous!” the man shouted, rudely jerking Arthur out of his thoughts. “She could be spawn of the Sidhe!”

“What are you talking about?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“The fair folk! The creatures that guard the land of death and the magic that lives in the land,” an elderly man said in a shaky voice. He spoke from within the crowd; Arthur couldn’t even see him. “The Sidhe have not been seen for centuries.”

The foreign diplomat scowled at the old man deeply.

“There is darkness in her heart. Her soul is corrupted by her magic.”

“Morgana isn’t a monster!” Arthur declared. The crowd around him went still. He took a steady breath and continued, “It’s my fault this happened. I’m going to find her and convince her to bring the summer back.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” Sophia said as she finally caught up to him. Arthur swung up onto his horse. She lowered her voice, gazing up at him as she stroked the skin on his wrist with her silken hand. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said, gently brushing his hand along her cheek. “I want you to take care of things here in Camelot while I look for Morgana.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sophia promised. “You have my word.”

Arthur took off at a gallop with a vice-like grip on the reins.

* * *

While Arthur had started out his journey into the mountains quite solidly, his progress and luck both ran out rather quickly. The gallop he began with only lasted as long as the snow wasn’t up to his stirrups. It took him all night and much of the following day to even get close enough to the North Mountain to be able to see it. The horse quickly tired and Arthur let it walk beside him. Not long before sunset, just as Arthur was considering getting back on the horse and pushing to get to an inn of some kind, a very convenient branch snapped overhead, showering Arthur in snow and spooking the horse into running back toward Camelot.

_Shit_.

Night fell quickly in the mountains, Arthur learned. He also found that his ceremonial garb wasn’t remotely insulated.

When he caught sight of the little shop in the wilderness pumping smoke through its crooked chimney, Arthur thought he might cry with relief. He hobbled up to the trading house and exhaled as warmth enveloped him.

“Hello! Welcome to Old Kilgharrah’s Trading Post,” said an older man behind the counter. He was smiling at Arthur, but he didn’t seem to be the cheeriest of men on a whole. Arthur blinked slowly, his muscles still defrosting. “All summer items are half-off.”

“That’s… great. What about winter clothes?”

His teeth were chattering.

“Full price, son,” said Kilgharrah, nodding at a mostly empty corner. Arthur snatched up the clothes, cloak, and boots and approached the counter.

Just as Kilgharrah started trying to convince Arthur to purchase a jar of lutefisk the door opened, the harsh wind blowing waves of snow in with the man who entered the shop. To Arthur he looked less like a man and more like a walking snowman, given how thickly his clothes were coated. He walked up to the counter without sparing Arthur more than a glance. The man knelt and reached behind Arthur’s legs.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“You’re in the way,” he said, his voice muffled by the scarf tied around his face.

“ _I’m_ in – do you know who I am?!” Arthur sputtered.

“I don’t; doesn’t matter much to me. Back up, will you? I’m in a wee bit of a hurry,” the man said, nudging Arthur with a bony elbow. Arthur gaped at him.

“That’ll be forty,” Kilgharrah sighed.

“Forty?” the man exclaimed. “Come on, Kil, you know I’m your most loyal customer!”

“Hush, boy. Even you understand simple principles of business. _Supply and demand_.”

“I sell ice. Believe me, I get it,” the man said flatly. Arthur snorted. The man glared at him through frost-tipped eyelashes, his eyes sharp and electric. It sent a jolt of heat straight to Arthur’s core – for no reason whatsoever, he decided.

“Forty or not at all,” Kilgharrah said. “Can’t bend the rules today.”

The man glared at him before huffing and leaving his materials on the counter. He disappeared outside again.

“Will that be all, sir?” Kilgharrah asked, jerking Arthur out of his thoughts. He looked away from the door, then down at the things the man had left.

“Erm.”

“Perhaps… that man might help you find what you’re looking for, young man,” Kilgarrah said, nodding at the door through which the man had left. “Quiet one, that one, with a dragon on his heels, but a good person under that scarf of his. He can show you what you need most from the mountains.”

Arthur eyed the shopkeeper warily. Eventually, Arthur acquiesced he didn’t have any better options.

“Right,” he eventually said. “I’ll take it all, then.”

* * *

Merlin led Aithusa quietly into the Trading Post’s barn and lit a few of the lanterns. Merlin let a little magic loose and warmth suffused the whole barn. He exhaled and happily sank into the hay. Aithusa dropped her head on his stomach and curled up around him, her wings blanketing him comfortably.

He was about to drop into a well-earned sleep when the door to the barn banged open. He threw a hand out in defense, ready to fend off ill-meaning intruders or an angry Kilgarrah.

“Oh,” Merlin blinked, looking at the blond man (boy?) he’d seen in the shop. “It’s just you.”

“I require your help,” he said. He sounded awfully stiff and authoritative, yet obviously uncertain.

“Right… I don’t really help people,” Merlin said slowly. He lowered himself back onto the hay, exhaustion kicking in again. He nearly shut his eyes when something heavy hit him in the stomach. “Hey!”

“You can thank me by taking me up the North Mountain,” said the boy.

“Why the hell do you want to go up there?” Merlin blurted against his better judgment.

“I can bring back the summer. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Yes, but how d’you plan to—?”

“Oh, I have a plan, alright! Will you help me or not?” he asked impatiently.

“You forgot the lutefisk for Aithusa,” Merlin snapped. He barely caught the jar when he lobbed it at him. “Oi! You could’ve cracked my skull!”

“Would’ve helped your intelligence, no doubt.”

“Would’ve killed me, actually.”

“It’d have been an improvement over your current state.”

“You’d have no one to take you up the mountain,” Merlin said pointedly. He stood up and stretched. When he looked back he found the boy watching him, his eyes roving his body. Merlin quickly straightened back out and started gathering his things.

“That’s true,” he said belatedly.

“What’s your name, then?”

“Arthur,” he replied.

“I’m Merlin.”

Merlin offered his hand to shake. Arthur didn’t seem keen on touching him, but he did it anyway. His hands were soft, unlike Merlin’s, worn by many years of hard work. Then the light caught Arthur’s golden hair and Merlin saw the pale streak cutting through it; his memories flooded back, and he suddenly realized that this was _Arthur_ , not just any old lost boy but the prince himself, who he’d seen healed by the Sidhe of Avalon.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“It was weird.”

“You’re a bit of a prat, aren’t you?” Merlin said, frowning. He sighed. He supposed Arthur couldn’t be royal, heartbreakingly beautiful, _and_ have a stellar personality. It’d be too much to cram into one person.

“You can’t call me that!”

“Sure I can,” Merlin shrugged. He hauled his pack over his shoulder and opened the door. Aithusa ran outside and burrowed playfully in the snow bank. He looked back at Arthur, who was staring at Aithusa like he’d never seen a bloody dragon before.

“Are you coming or not?”

* * *

A dragon. The strange mountain man (boy, really; he didn’t look nearly as old as his voice made him seem in the shop) called Merlin had a white dragon, which was currently throwing snow in the air and melting it with little puffs of smoke.

“Aithusa! Come on, we’re leaving now!” Merlin called. The white dragon huffed smoke at Merlin but obeyed his command.

Arthur watched her body lengthen, her tail stretching as it whipped out and curled around Merlin’s ankle while he locked her into a harness. At the other end was a sled packed with various boxes and blankets. Arthur spied a musical instrument of some kind in the mix, too. But the dragon – Aithusa – drew his attention away from the sled pretty quickly when she spread her wings. Arthur jumped back a step.

Merlin bloody _laughed_.

“It’s not funny!” Arthur scowled.

“It is,” Merlin grinned. He climbed into the sled, took up the reins, and patted the seat beside him. “What, never seen a dragon before?”

“No, actually,” Arthur said, following Merlin.

“Really?” he said, sounding less amused now.

“I grew up in a castle, Merlin. Not exactly the prime living environment for a dragon,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, fine. So what’s the deal with the snow then? You said you have a plan, right?”

“Of course,” Arthur replied. Merlin said nothing. Arthur soon realized he was waiting. “I’m not telling _you_!”

“What? Why not?”

“You might mess things up!”

“I’m _taking_ _you_ to the North Mountain so you can do whatever you’ve got planned! I think I deserve to know what the hell you’re doing,” Merlin shot back. Arthur glared at him. “At least tell me why it’s winter.”

“You didn’t see anyone going up the mountain earlier tonight, did you?” he asked suddenly.

“No,” Merlin said slowly. “Why?”

“It’s… it’s my fault, actually,” Arthur admitted. “My sister, the Queen, actually – she’s the one who did this.”

“… Okay. Why?”

“You’re just going to accept that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Because it sounds mad!”

“She wouldn’t be the only one with weird magical powers out here, Arthur,” Merlin said, sounding like it was the most obvious logic in the world. Arthur blinked.

“Oh. I suppose not.”

“Exactly. You need to get out of that castle more often, sire,” he added, nudging Arthur. The contact sent another inexplicable jolt of warmth through Arthur. “Go on. Why’s she done this, then?”

“See… There’s a girl I met today and she’s _incredible_ , and we wanted Morgana to bless our engagement, and she flat-out refused. I accidentally pulled off her glove and I might’ve shouted a bit, and then… well, this happened,” Arthur said, deflating.

He looked over at Merlin, who looked like he’d never seen someone or something like Arthur in his entire life.

“You’d just met the girl… and you got engaged to her?” Merlin asked flatly.

“Well, yes,” Arthur blinked. “It’s not difficult to follow.”

“But you just met her! You don’t know a damn thing about her!”

“I know plenty about Sophia!” Arthur snapped.

“Where’s she from?”

“Tir-Mor. She’s a _princess_.”

Merlin scoffed.

“Right. And… what’s her favorite thing to do?”

“Dancing. I think.”

“What about favorite food?”

“Champagne.”

“Have you eaten a meal with her? What if she’s one of those people who picks her teeth at the table, and then eats the food off her fingernails?”

“That’s vile,” Arthur gaped. He flushed angrily at Merlin’s stupid smug face. “Sophia is a lady. She’s a _princess_ , and I won’t have you accusing her of such impossible things.”

“She’s a person, Arthur. Anyone can do these things. Being a princess doesn’t make her different,” Merlin said exasperatedly. Arthur opened his mouth to rebuke but Merlin cut him off. “What about Morgana, then? Were the gloves to keep her magic in check?”

“I guess,” Arthur said, frowning. “I don’t really know. I didn’t know about the magic until she turned half the ballroom into an ice field.”

It was Merlin’s turn to gape at him.

“She hid it from you? All your lives?”

“From everyone. It must be why the gates to the palace are always closed,” Arthur realized.

“But… why? Magic isn’t evil. It can be harmful, but so can kitchen knives. Why would she hide it?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. His words made his chest feel hollow. “I wish I’d known. I always wanted to understand why she shut me out.”

“She didn’t want you to know,” Merlin said quietly. “There must have been a good reason.”

“I’m going to find out when we find her,” Arthur agreed. He peered through the darkness.

“I still can’t believe you got engaged to that girl,” Merlin muttered. “It’s not like _you’re_ a woman who needs a secure marriage to get anywhere in society or some other shit like that.”

“What the hell would you know about society?” Arthur said. He didn’t have the energy to snap at Merlin now.

“Enough. I do business in Camelot all the time. Aithusa and I are pretty observant,” he said.

“Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut it.”

“Oh, no, I think you’re—”

Aithusa skidded to a stop, jostling Arthur off-balance into Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin quickly steadied him with a warm hand, his gaze fixed on Aithusa’s head. The dragon was looking around, her scales shimmering in the dim light of their lanterns.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked.

“Shut up a second.”

“You can’t tell—” he started, but Merlin clapped a hand over Arthur’s mouth and held him down against the seat. Arthur watched Merlin look around, his eyes sharp and assessing. He turned suddenly to the left and looked past Arthur. He saw Merlin’s pupils dilate.

“Aithusa, _go!_ ” he hissed.

The sled jerked forward and Merlin released Arthur, setting down in a tense stance with the reins in one hand. He looked over his shoulder, then down into the contents of the sled.

“Take this,” he said, handing Arthur an unlit torch.

“What’s going on?”

“Wolves are following us, and not the good sort.”

“What does that mean?”

Merlin twisted back around with another torch in hand. He dipped the end of his in the fire of the lantern, and then covered Arthur’s hand in order to do the same to Arthur’s torch. He wasn’t watching Arthur, though; he was scanning the woods. Arthur wasn’t sure why he’d thought Merlin would be watching him in the first place, and he certainly didn’t know why he felt a twinge of disappointment. He shook his head and turned around as well.

“There are some bad people who’ve enchanted the wolves. They’re stronger and more dangerous. Some of them have poison in their teeth. I heard a story once of a man who bred a wolf with a wyvern,” Merlin said, his voice lowering to a gravely whisper that made the hair on Arthur’s skin stand on end.

“Why would anyone do that?”

“There are bad people out there who figured out ways to use magic for terrible purposes. I don’t understand it myself,” he said. He sounded sad, almost hurt by the very idea.

The cogs in Arthur’s mind suddenly clicked into place.

“Merlin. Do _you_ have magic?”

He didn’t get a response. The first wolf soared out from between the trees and latched onto Arthur’s shoulder. He knew he must’ve howled when the wolf’s teeth dug into him, cutting through the layers of warm clothing right to his skin. He was vaguely aware of Merlin shouting something he didn’t understand – and suddenly, the wolf released him.

“Arthur! Answer me!”

He blinked rapidly until the darkness around his vision receded and Merlin came into focus. His eyes were still glowing gold.

“That answers my question,” he said faintly.

“Can you move?” he asked, looking around frantically.

“I think so.”

Merlin dug around the back of the sled until he pulled out a curiously shaped slab of leather. He tossed it forward at the dragon, but Arthur didn’t see if it landed.

“Get on Aithusa’s back. I’ll help you over.”

“What? No, I—”

“Just do it or you’ll be wolf fodder in about twenty seconds,” Merlin growled.

Arthur didn’t have it in him to argue. He started clambering over the front of the sled, the curved wood slick and wet from the snow. He nearly slipped when he felt something warm and alien grasp his arms and raise him just enough to get across to Aithusa. Arthur could barely make it to the leather saddle; the dragon’s scales were just as slick as the polished wood of the sled, and she was moving fast, her muscles shifting and flexing beneath her rough surface.

She wasn’t rough, though. He felt her tense, then relax once he settled on her back. She raised her wings enough that he was securely in place. Arthur petted her neck awkwardly, hoping she understood his gratitude.

“Get ready to fly, Aithusa!” Merlin cried out.

Arthur spun around.

“Fly?” he exclaimed.

The ground sloped and Arthur turned back around. Suddenly they were in the air soaring over a deep gorge – and Merlin was still on the sled, careening across the gap, riding the sled’s momentum alone. One wolf had latched onto the back of the sled while they rest were still on the other side of the gorge.

“Go! We have to get him!” Arthur said urgently, but Aithusa didn’t rush. The sled continued to fall almost in slow motion. 

 _Magic, indeed_ , it dawned on Arthur.

Merlin jumped off the sled, which had nearly stopped mid-air, and just barely clung to the other side of the gorge. Now Aithusa rushed forward. Arthur almost toppled off when she took a nosedive into the gorge, Merlin’s shouts for her just coming into earshot not a moment before he landed on Aithusa’s back nearly on top of Arthur. He started to slip. Arthur grabbed onto whatever he could reach – Merlin’s leg on one side, his arm on the other – and hauled him back upright until he felt Merlin pressed against his back. Arthur exhaled, finally relieved.

“Thanks,” Merlin said shakily, his breath warm on Arthur’s cheek where he was leaning forward. He patted Aithusa’s flank.

“That was close,” Arthur said absently. The pain in his shoulder was starting to return now that the adrenaline of the escape began to fade.

“I’ve had closer calls,” Merlin said.

Arthur laughed.

“I don’t know if I want to ask.”

“Maybe later I’ll tell you anyway,” Merlin said. Arthur could hear the smile in his voice and it made all the pain and warmth fade away, even if only for a few moments.

* * *

Morgana paced about the large chamber on the upper level of her palace. The space within the palace was barren but for the ice sculptures she kept making. Those made her incomprehensibly happy – but it didn’t feel quite right. She found herself turning around to call out for someone to show them what she’s made, but she was very much alone up in the mountains.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She crafted a throne and sat down, overlooking her chamber of frozen sculptures.

“I can’t go back,” she murmured. “I don’t want to. I’m free up here in ways Camelot could never let me be.”

The fear in the eyes of the people was still fresh in her mind. She shut her eyes and willed the image away. It was almost as bad as the look on Arthur’s face when he’d seen the ice she’d created between them in the ballroom.

Morgana exhaled shakily now.

“No. I can’t.”

Arthur would be safer this way. All of Camelot would be better off.

She never cared much for ruling anyway, even if she was much better suited to it than Arthur ever would be. He hadn’t had her training and education at court. He never sat for hours and hours with their father and nothing to do but study the laws together and resolutely ignore the magic charging the air.

She let her head rest on the ice and closed her eyes.

It was going to get better. She knew it.

* * *

“Hold still!”

“You’re fussing!”

“I’m fussing because you’re _still bleeding_ , you prat! Stop knocking my hands away,” Merlin snapped. He grabbed both of Arthur’s hands with one hand and pushed them aside. Arthur glared at him.

“I’m a prince, you know. I could have you hanged for that.”

“What? Wrapping a wound?” Merlin asked. He was distracted now by getting the cloth to wrap tightly enough around Arthur’s muscular shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Arthur grumbled. “Are you done yet?”

“Christ, you’re impatient. It’s the middle of the night anyway. We’ll have to wait until dawn to get moving again,” Merlin said.

“Seriously?”

“ _Yeah_. So get comfortable.”

Arthur looked up at Merlin where he knelt, his hands still on Arthur’s skin. His eyes flitted to where Merlin’s hands rested.

“You’re finished then?”

“Well… I could heal you,” Merlin said. Arthur, however, didn’t seem nearly as surprised or angry as Merlin expected he would be.

“You could heal the wound? And you just tortured me for twenty minutes with that scrap?”

“You city folk aren’t exactly the friendliest about magic – especially you _royal_ ones,” Merlin added. “I didn’t want to take a chance.”

Arthur’s gaze softened a hair. He looked much less like a man on a mission and much more like the untested boy he clearly was.

“Why did you change your mind?”

“Didn’t want to deal with your griping while it healed. You know, weighed my options,” Merlin shrugged. Arthur gaped, but when he caught Merlin smiling he laughed happily, tossing his head back in his excitement. Merlin watched, mesmerized. He’d truly never seen anyone of even comparable beauty.

“You’re staring,” Arthur said, the corner of his lips pulled up in a crooked smile. Merlin felt his whole body warm up at the way Arthur smiled at him.

“Sorry,” he said hastily. Merlin backed away and brushed the snow off his pants. “I’ll get a fire going. Try not to move around much.”

“I can manage that,” Arthur sighed. Merlin glanced back at him before leaving the clearing, but Arthur’s eyes were already shut, his lips no longer smiling.

* * *

Morgana woke gasping for air, crying out,  _“Arthur!”_

The images were still so vivid on the insides of her eyelids – that woman, Sophia, pressing Arthur under the water, holding him down, Arthur sinking a rock to the bottom of the familiar fjords. Morgana let out a panicked sound and threw herself from bed. She ran to the doors and onto the balcony. The sun was barely touching the sky. In the distance she could see the farthest fjords that surrounded Camelot, still frozen from her escape.

“I can’t let him die,” Morgana breathed. Her breath came out cold and wispy. “I won’t let her.”

If the fjords around Camelot never unfroze, Sophia had nowhere to drown Arthur. Until she figured out a plan to actually stop her, she would wait and keep the winter strong, and hope Sophia didn’t find another lake.

She knew she had to warn Arthur.

She returned inside, closing the doors quietly behind her. Morgana jumped when the door at the other end of the hall opened and something walked in – something made of ice.

Morgana approached the sculpture carefully. It threw its little arms around her legs and almost unbalanced her.

“Calm down there,” she laughed softly. “Who are you?”

“Mordred, my lady. You made me,” the little ice boy said, ducking his head. Morgana touched his hair; it was made of fine strands of ice and moved with her fingers like real hair did, and it didn’t even melt at her touch! She knelt in front of him.

“Mordred, would you like to do a job for me?”

He nodded.

“I have a message for you to send to my brother,” said Morgana. “I’m going to change what you look like just a little bit, and then I’m going to send you out there. Can you do this?”

“Of course,” he said, sounding startlingly like Arthur when he was perhaps only six or seven – excited, and a little indignant and snotty. Morgana smiled in spite of her sadness at the memory.

“Good. Let’s get you ready, then.”

* * *

Arthur woke feeling remarkably warm. He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night beyond eating dinner and settling next to Merlin while he conversed quietly in a foreign tongue with Aithusa. He woke, though, to find Merlin curled up next to them, and both of them enfolded in Aithusa’s great wings. Arthur squinted up at the bright cold sky over them; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Ice hung from the trees, looking more like baubles than merely ice. He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Merlin or Aithusa, and looked around. The rest of the clearing was just as beautiful, the ice and snow glittering in the bright sunlight.

“Pretty isn’t it?”

Arthur jumped at the sudden sound. Merlin laughed and sat up. He leaned back against Aithusa and pressed his face into her neck. Merlin looked warm, his face flushed from sleep, his hair sticking up everywhere. Arthur tore his gaze away, unsure why he’d decided to look for so long in the first place. He ended up looking back at Merlin again a few moments later, unable to resist for long. Merlin smiled when he caught him.

“My hair’s a bird’s nest isn’t it?” he snorted. “Aithusa always says that’s what I look like.”

“Have you got birds living up there?”

“Not yet, but it’s apparently pretty inviting,” Merlin said, still grinning. He peeled himself away from Aithusa. The scales left imprints on his cheek, like Arthur’s pillow always did to his face. Arthur felt the irrational desire to smooth them down, to touch Merlin’s face and bring him closer.

“Now you’re the one staring,” Merlin said, his smile starting to fall. “Is it really that bad?”

“Of course not,” Arthur said. He sounded gruffer than he intended. Arthur stood up and stretched, looking around. “We ought to get going.”

“Right. Yes. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Arthur was certain he imagined the disappointment in Merlin’s voice. He busied himself with snuffing out the fire completely while Merlin puttered about Aithusa, murmuring quietly to her.

Arthur nearly jumped a foot in the air when he felt a burst of hot air on his rear and back.

“What the—?”

Merlin was absolutely _howling_ in laughter – and even the dragon was laughing! Aithusa rolled over in the snow, dragging Merlin down with her. Arthur would’ve been furious, but he wasn’t.

He lobbed a snowball at Merlin for good measure.

“Oh!” Merlin cried. “That’s not fair!”

“Sure it is. You declared war,” Arthur said coyly. “I know these things, you know.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I think I can take you, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I could take you apart with one good blow!”

He laughed as Merlin picked up a huge chunk of snow and dropped it almost immediately all over Aithusa’s flank. She snorted and shook herself out, showering them all in water and snow.

“Yeah?” Merlin said, grinning. “I could take you apart with less than that, _sire._ ”

Three walls of snow rose up around Arthur, boxing him in. Merlin walked forward until there was hardly a foot between them. He smiled sunnily.

“Magic, remember?”

The look on his face was so – so _endearing_ , Arthur would’ve had no choice but to kiss him if Merlin had lingered even a moment longer. It was getting harder to resist, he realized. He wasn’t sure when he realized that _this_ was what he’d been resisting, but it’d become terribly apparent overnight. Luckily, Merlin made it easy by dropping all three walls of snow on Arthur at once.

“Merlin!” Arthur roared. It didn’t come out as a roar, though; it was more of a sputter. When he punched his way out of the snow Merlin was sitting on the ground laughing madly.

“Want to try that again, Arthur?” he snickered.

“I could still take you,” he grumbled.

Merlin might have muttered _you wish_ in response, but Arthur resolutely pretended he didn’t hear it. It didn’t stop his terrible and inconsiderate imagination from running wild. He turned away to hide his flushed face; he didn’t see how red the tips of Merlin’s ears turned.

“Are we ready to go now?” Arthur asked after a stretch of silence.

“Er. Yeah. Let’s—”

“Wait!”

Both he and Merlin froze. Out of the woods came a boy – or at least, it seemed to be a boy until he actually came close enough for Arthur to see that he was made of ice and snow rather than flesh and bone. The boy barreled into the clearing, stopping short a couple of feet away from Merlin and Arthur. Merlin took half a step forward. Arthur realized belatedly he was shielding Arthur. He didn’t get the chance to elbow Merlin aside and tell him he could take care of himself because the boy started to talk again.

“I’m so glad I’ve found you,” the boy smiled. He looked remarkably solid and stable, his eyes a very life-like shade of blue. He looked between Merlin and Arthur, then back at Merlin. “Who are you?”

“I’m Merlin,” he said. The boy offered him a hand. Merlin shook it gingerly. He grinned up at Arthur. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“I’m Mordred,” the ice boy said, “and you’re Arthur Pendragon.”

He turned his gaze on Arthur.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

“Why are you all the way out here?” Mordred asked, his brow furrowing.

“I’m looking for my sister,” Arthur said. “Do you… do you know where I can find her?”

Mordred paused. He watched Arthur, searching him, or thinking deeply (if a boy made of ice could think). Mordred took a few steps toward Arthur and looked up at him. He was awfully small. Then, he reached up and took Arthur’s hand.

“I can take you to her.”

* * *

Mordred led the way up the mountain through a rocky area with sheer drops around them. Ice hung low in some places, jutted out directly at them in others.

“This is… a little terrifying,” Merlin admitted. “Arthur, what exactly is your plan again?”

“Oh,” Arthur said. He stopped walking a moment, then shook his head and continued on. “I mean, I’m going to talk to her, make her see sense—”

Merlin stopped short.

“Talk to her? That’s your big plan?” Merlin exclaimed. Some of the icicles around them rattled menacingly.

“Morgana’s not entirely unreasonable,” Arthur frowned.

“Do you see this? This is what her magic did! Arthur if she’s been repressing all that power for so many years – you have to be careful around her. Do you understand?”

“She wouldn’t hurt me, _Mer_ lin. She’s my sister.”

Merlin stared at Arthur, whose scowl only deepened.

“What now?”

“Magic can be dangerous. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want to hurt you. Sometimes… bad things happen, especially if she’s been alone and afraid of herself all this time,” Merlin said. “She’s probably no less scared of her powers now. She’s just letting herself experience them. Trusting her magic… that’ll take a long time, just as long as it’ll take for her magic to settle down enough to trust in the first place.”

“She’s my sister, Merlin,” Arthur said softly.

“I know,” he said.

“She sounds pretty nice,” Mordred piped up. He clambered up a particularly steep rock and walked along a narrow ridge. “I’m sure she’s really warm and loving when she’s not so scared.”

Mordred’s voice cut out abruptly. Merlin looked back. Mordred frowned at the icicle currently spearing him. He’d apparently walked right into it without noticing it pierce his snow-based gut.

“Oh, look at that. I’ve been impaled,” Mordred said. He looked at Merlin with a look of faint wonder and amusement. Merlin took a few steps back and hurried after Aithusa instead.

“They’re all nuts, love,” he muttered. She nuzzled his neck and blew a puff of warm air on him. Merlin grinned and pressed a fond kiss to the side of her snout. “What’d I do without you?”

“Not much, probably,” Arthur retorted. Merlin stuck his tongue out at him.

“Private conversation here, Arthur. Didn’t they teach you manners in that castle of yours?”

Arthur only laughed in response.

They reached the top of the slope and found a massive wall of rock sheathed in ice. Arthur stood at the base, sizing it up. Aithusa nudged Merlin toward Arthur.

“Shh. I’m waiting to see what he does.”

“He might crack his skull open,” Mordred suggested. He paused. “I haven’t got a skull, have I? Or bones.”

“You’re really weird, you know?” Merlin said, looking down at Mordred. He shrugged and wandered away and around a corner.

Merlin turned back when he heard Arthur emit a labored grunt.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked.

“I’m going to see Morgana,” he said with determination.

“Don’t put your foot there. Or there.”

“I don’t need your help, Merlin.”

“Right…. Don’t do that either.”

“I’m _fine_. I’m almost there, so shut up and let me work.”

He was hardly a few feet off the ground. Merlin sighed loudly.

“Hang on. I’ll come help,” Merlin said.

He reached into Aithusa’s saddle for the rope and pick, but by the time he reached Arthur, Mordred returned and announced the great ice staircase just around the ridge.

“Still planning on scaling the mountain?” Merlin laughed. Arthur grunted and attempted to get a better grip on a lower rock.

“Shut up, Merlin,” he gritted out.

Arthur made it a few steps down the slope before he very poorly grabbed onto an icy rock and slipped. Merlin instantly rushed forward, his magic catching Arthur as he fell off the rocks right in Merlin’s waiting arms.

“Oof! God, you’re heavy!” Merlin grunted. He set Arthur upright and started checking his shoulder.

“Are you calling me fat?” he exclaimed. “Quit fussing, I’m fine! Unless you didn’t actually heal me….”

“I did! Of course I did,” Merlin said hastily. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know! You live alone in the woods with a dragon! You do strange things.”

“You got engaged to a woman you just met. Don’t talk to me about weird judgment calls,” Merlin snapped.

He kept smoothing over the front of Arthur’s jacket even though the snow had fallen off and the wrinkles were long gone. Arthur’s gaze lowered, glancing at Merlin’s hands.

“I, uh… sorry. I’ll just—”

“Merlin—”

“Let’s go, Arthur. We’re almost there,” Merlin said.

He took long steps until he was around the corner. Aithusa was sitting at the foot of the great ice staircase, leading up to a frozen palace. Merlin’s jaw promptly dropped.

“Oh my god.”

“That’s… wow,” Arthur said, materializing beside him. He started climbing the steps but Merlin took his time, examining the railings and details on the stairs as he went.

“That’s _incredible_.”

“Take your time. I won’t judge,” Arthur said. Merlin looked up; he was smirking.

“Funny, Arthur.”

“I’m going in,” he said when he reached the top. “Wait out here with Mordred.”

“What? Why?”

“Morgana’s not exactly…. I don’t want to overwhelm her,” said Arthur. “I’m not going to mess this up.”

“I know. You’ve got this,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked at him as though he’d said something much more bizarre and perplexing than what he’d said. Merlin clapped his shoulder bracingly and gave him a gentle push forward. Arthur raised a hand to the towering doors and knocked twice before they swung wide open for him. Merlin waited until he was inside to sit on the top step and watch Aithusa bury herself in the snowdrift at the base of the stairs. Mordred put his heavy head on Merlin’s shoulder and sighed wearily.

“I feel you, buddy,” Merlin murmured.

* * *

Morgana heard the main doors open. She stiffened in her seat, then made her way quickly out to the foyer, throwing the doors open.

“Morgana.”

 _Arthur._ Morgana felt the room grow colder.

“You look – wow! You look incredible,” he said, looking up at her with an awed grin. To her he looked so terribly young and small at the foot of the steps.

“Thank you,” she said. She couldn’t look at him, his open expression, for more than a few seconds. “Why are you here, Arthur?”

“I came to talk to you. I wanted to tell you I think I’m starting to understand,” Arthur said. He climbed the steps with slow steady steps.

“No! It’s okay. You didn’t need to come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I did! Morgana, you need to come back to Camelot. We need you there.”

“I can’t go back,” she said sharply. She exhales wearily; Arthur seemed to be waiting for something, so she said, “I’m happier here. I’m free! And you’re safer this way.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. I understand now. We can fix what happened between us, between all of us! Don’t you see? I’m here for you now,” Arthur said. He reached the top of the stairs and stopped.

“Please, Arthur, don’t do this. I know you mean well, but… it’s not a good idea, not at all!”

Morgana started her retreat again, running up the steps to the second level of the palace.

“Wait! No—”

Arthur caught up quickly.

“Go home, Arthur. Go rule Camelot. Make it beautiful and open, just the way you always wanted it to be,” Morgana said, feeling thin and ragged all of a sudden. She opened the doors to the balcony, sucking in the fresh air until her heart rate started to calm. Arthur followed and looked over the railing at the mountain range. “Your life is out there, Arthur. Mine is here. Just… stay away and you’ll be safe.”

“From you? Morgana, I know you’d never—”

“You don’t! You don’t know who I might hurt – even you!” she shouted. “Arthur it’s dangerous for you to be here. I need you to leave.”

“I can’t go back to Camelot! It’s covered in three feet of snow! The city’s not prepared to deal with a winter like this.”

Morgana staggered back a step. She looked back out at the corner of the fjord she’d been watching so carefully, its frozen surface glittering in the distance. She never noticed the darkness of the sky just beyond.

It was one thing to keep the ice frozen in Camelot to keep Sophia from killing Arthur; it was another thing entirely to plunge Camelot into a magical winter, a winter she never realized she’d started.

“ _I_ did that?”

She looked down at her shaking hands and felt fear of what her magic could do.

“You can fix it, of course. Won’t you?” Arthur said, starting to smile again. “I know you’ve got it in you.”

“What? I can’t! I don’t know how!”

Arthur started to scowl, but Morgana didn’t miss the quiver of his lip, the doubt in his eyes.

“Morgana, stop it. You have the power to fix this!”

“Arthur – oh, god, no. No this is—”

Morgana didn’t even notice the snow starting to fall in the palace or the wind starting to blow. She barely heard the words she was saying over her panicked heartbeat. When her magic finally burst forth and Morgana could breathe again, she found Arthur on the floor, clutching his chest and gasping for air.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

An unfamiliar man burst through the doors.

“Arthur!” he cried as he skidded to a stop beside him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur said. He stood up. His legs looked shaky and his face pale. There was a hard, almost angry set to his jaw that reminded Morgana too much of Uther when he was most frustrated with her and her magic.

“We should go. The palace—”

The ground beneath her feet was shaking. By the time Morgana looked up and broke out of her thoughts, Arthur and the other man were gone.

Two arms wrapped around Morgana’s legs and it took everything in her power not to kick and run away. She looked down. It was just Mordred.

“What are you doing here?” she frowned. “I sent you with a message.”

“I brought Arthur to you.”

“I sent you so I wouldn’t have to find them myself,” she said.

“Oh. You didn’t say so. I thought I was helping.”

Morgana sighed sadly. “It’s okay, Mordred. Did you give them the message, at least?”

“No, I thought when I brought them you would—”

“Mordred!”

“They won’t listen to me now, Morgana,” he said, tilting his head.

“Or me,” she sighed, all the fight seeping out of her at once. It was no use, any of it.

She peeled Mordred off and went straight to her bed, burrowing under the blankets. Morgana didn’t bother to check that Mordred left. She shut her eyes and hoped desperately the gnawing tension in her belly that had haunted her for so many years would recede again with the dawn.

* * *

Arthur knew something was wrong when he staggered in the powdery snow and fell to his knees. He shouldn’t have had a problem walking at all, but there he was, on his knees, shivering like mad. Merlin walked back to him and helped him up, a deep frown on his face.

“Arthur, your – your hair.”

“It’s odd, I know,” he sighed. He felt out of breath when he spoke.

“No, I mean, it’s worse. It’s turning whiter,” Merlin said, his eyes wide. “What did Morgana do to you?”

“She struck me,” Arthur said. He touched his chest absently. Merlin inhaled sharply.

“That’s bad. We need to get you treated,” Merlin declared. “Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” Arthur scowled. “I’m fine, Merlin.”

He nearly collapsed in a fit of shivering not five minutes later, held up only by Aithusa’s warm flank. Merlin didn’t even seem to care to take the chance and make a joke about Arthur’s situation.

“I know someone who can heal you,” Merlin said, his hands warm on Arthur’s shoulder where he braced him. He looked afraid. Arthur didn’t like the look of fear on Merlin at all. “Let me take you to him.”

“Are you sure it’ll work?” he asked.

“I’ve seen him do it before.”

“Then let’s go.”

* * *

The trek through the forest was mostly silent, broken only by Aithusa’s occasional huffing and rolling about in the snow. Merlin never strayed far from Arthur’s side, always ready to jump in and steady Arthur if he stumbled. His hands always felt like hot iron on Arthur. They stopped and set up camp when it became too dark to see. Merlin had a fire going in no time; Arthur was too cold to notice how long it took to set it up anyway.

“Come closer,” he said, waving at Arthur. He shuffled forward until he was almost touching the flames, the heat impossibly kind on his icy skin. Arthur relaxed slowly as the warmth washed over him. Merlin sat down beside him and said nothing beyond a relieved, tired sigh.

“I can’t go back to Camelot like this. I made things worse,” Arthur said when his thoughts became too much to keep inside any longer. Saying them only made the helplessness he felt spread like the warmth of the fire on his skin. “What am I going to do, Merlin?”

“Become a hermit like me?” he suggested.

“If only it were that simple,” he said with a laugh. “If Morgana doesn’t come back I’ll have to rule Camelot.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t really know how to rule a kingdom. Father taught her more than me,” Arthur went on. He hadn’t the slightest idea why he was saying any of this now. “I’m… I’m not even of age yet. They’ll have to bring in a regent until I turn eighteen.”

“Did the king have relatives?” he asked. Arthur shook his head.

“I’ve got an uncle on my mother’s side – Agravaine, I think. He lives somewhere in the Southern Isles, but I haven’t seen him since the funeral. He’s the only one, though.”

Arthur looked at Merlin and found him watching the fire intently.

“What was it like?” Merlin asked, suddenly looking at Arthur. His eyes were bright as the fire, looking almost like they did when magic coursed through him. It took Arthur a moment to recover from how lovely he looked.

“What was what like?” he asked belatedly.

“Growing up there, with the king for your father,” Merlin said. He paused.

“And Morgana for my sister?”

Merlin nodded.

“It was… lonely,” Arthur said. He felt something loosen in his chest, like he’d been keeping a knot in place for years by not uttering the word and allowing it to be true. “My father had a lot to do all the time, and Morgana… we were so close when we were little. I hardly remember it now, but I know we spent all our time together. I thought she was the best person in the world, really.”

“That’s normal for a little sibling to think,” Merlin said with a soft smile.

“D’you have any siblings?” Arthur asked. It struck him abruptly how little he knew about Merlin.

“No,” Merlin said hastily. “My family’s not a normal one. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Tell me more about her?” Merlin asked. Arthur almost smiled at the uncharacteristic timidity in his voice.

“She was always sneaking off, running away from her tutors. Once she even climbed a tree to get out of a lesson,” Arthur said fondly. “I sat under the tree and waited for her to come down for hours. She had a servant, Gwen. They were attached at the hip. Morgana liked giving Gwen her clothes and jewelry. I remember she had the prettiest laugh,” said Arthur, feeling distant all of a sudden. “I haven’t seen her since I stopped seeing Morgana.”

Merlin waited while Arthur gathered his words.

“Something must’ve happened,” Arthur said, frowning at the flames. “Something bad with the magic. Father never liked magic, even though the laws against it haven’t been in place since before I was born. I can’t imagine why else he’d have kept her hidden like that.”

Merlin seemed to shudder at the thought, his eyes fluttering shut.

“What about you?” Merlin asked. Arthur looked up at him. “What do you think of magic?”

“It’s incredible,” Arthur said after a moment. “I might be hurt because of it right now, but I’ve seen it save my life.”

Merlin looked down, a smile playing at his lips. Arthur wanted him to look up at him now, so he could return the smile, to _show_ him it was all right, but he didn’t.

“A lot of people in Camelot still think all sorcerers are evil,” said Merlin nonchalantly.

Arthur felt a surge of sadness at the sound of Merlin’s voice.

“I don’t think that. I never have.”

“Really? Did the king never… I don’t know, lecture you endlessly on the corruptive power of sorcery?”

Arthur had to laugh at that. “He didn’t have the time. I barely saw him for dinner once a week.”

“Oh. Well. I’m pleased to hear that. Not that you never saw him, of course.”

Arthur laughed.

“Does the opinion of the Prince of Camelot really matter so much to you, Merlin?” he said, grinning. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Someday you could be King. It’s good to know where I stand,” he said.

“If Morgana comes back she can show Camelot how much good magic can do,” Arthur murmured. “I can’t do that myself, even if I end up King.”

“Guess you don’t need your sister’s blessing anymore to marry that girl now, huh?” Merlin said. He sounded curiously wooden.

Arthur had forgotten all about Sophia. She seemed so far away, like a much more distant memory than someone he met hardly two days ago.

“Guess not,” he said.

“I’m sorry things didn’t go the way you wanted with Morgana,” said Merlin softly.

“I’ll be all right,” he said with a bracing smile. “I’ve got you to help me through, haven’t I?”

The words came out before Arthur could filter through them in his mind, but he didn’t regret them the moment they were in the open between him and Merlin. His eyes widened. Merlin swallowed; Arthur traced the motion of his throat, leaning in ever so slightly to get a better look. He caught Merlin watching him, licking his lips absently.

Arthur wanted nothing more than to kiss him. He wasn’t even going to lie to himself about it now.

If Merlin hadn’t stood up and started setting up the bedroll, Arthur would’ve done it, too.

He felt like half the warmth of the fire sucked away when Merlin left his side. It didn’t end up lasting long. They lied down side by side on the bedroll with Aithusa curled up around them, giving them little space to themselves. Arthur looked over at Merlin and found him watching him with a faint look of confusion on his face. He reached over and pushed some of Arthur’s hair off his forehead. Arthur couldn’t stop the smile on his face; it was well worth the smile he received in response.

“Come closer. I swear I don’t bite,” he said, bemused.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Merlin said almost too quietly to hear. Arthur pretended not to have heard him as Merlin shifted over until he was tucked in Arthur’s arms. Warmth suffused Arthur’s body at the contact. Aithusa shifted her wings so she covered them more completely, creating a cocoon for the two of them. Arthur wrapped his arms securely around Merlin. Slowly, Merlin relaxed, his thin body fitting even more perfectly in Arthur’s embrace.

“Night, Merlin,” he said.

“Good night, Arthur.”

* * *

Arthur was leaning heavily on Merlin by the time they approached the Sidhe grove.

“They’ve taken care of me,” Merlin was saying, mostly to keep the panic out of his own voice rather than to keep Arthur anchored to consciousness. He’d been talking for at least an hour and couldn’t avoid the topic of who they were going to see now any longer, not after he’d expounded on all the kinds of dragons he’d encountered in the mountains and the other magical folk Arthur had only ever encountered in books. “They’re also a bit weird.”

“I’m sure they’re great, Merlin. They’re your family.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” Merlin said, looking at Arthur. There was an unhealthy sheen on his skin and his eyes looked a little glazed, but he was smiling at Merlin nonetheless. “Come on, don’t make me do all the work here. We’re nearly there.”

“It’s freezing,” Arthur said.

“Just hold on, all right? Everything’s going to be fine.”

Merlin cast a wave of warm magic over Arthur. It helped enough to get them over the hill into the grove. He looked around.

“Hey! Guys, I need your help,” he called. “It’s kind of urgent.”

Mab popped out from behind a boulder and flew over. Merlin glanced at Arthur, who looked less terrified and more startled now. It was an improvement from when he’d first seen Aithusa at least.

“Is that… a fairy?”

“Yeah. Told you they’re a bit weird.”

“Right,” he said faintly. Arthur wobbled a little and hung more tightly onto Merlin. It surely made Merlin blush, if the look Mab gave him was any indication.

“What’s wrong, little one?” she asked, hovering at eye level.

“He needs help. Where are the elders?”

“In a meeting. They’ll be out in a few minutes,” replied Mab. She cast an assessing gaze over Arthur, lingering on his nearly white hair. “My, you’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t you?”

“Apparently,” he said, teeth chattering. “Merlin, you’re sure they can help?”

“I told you, I’ve seen them do it before,” he said.

Mab grinned. “I remember that night. We took you into our family.”

“What about your parents?” Arthur asked, frowning.

“Haven’t got any,” Merlin shrugged. “Da must’ve left before I was born. Mum gave me up to an orphanage when I was really little. She said it’d be better that way and she’d come back but… she never did.”

“Little Merlin looked terribly lost,” Mab said, patting his cheek. He swatted her away, but he knew he was smiling. “We couldn’t just let him be.”

“They helped me a lot with my magic, too. I… would’ve ended up like Morgana, if I hadn’t come here,” Merlin said. He knew it was true. The orphanage hadn’t permitted kids with magic, so his mother had instructed him to keep it a secret and never let anyone see. Even then he’d felt horrified at the thought of shutting away such a huge part of him.

“I’m glad you did, then,” said Arthur.

“Maybe Morgana should, too. Come here, I mean.”

“She doesn’t want to be around anyone, Merlin,” Arthur said morosely. “She seems pretty happy to stay in that palace of hers forever.”

“She does love you Arthur,” Merlin said. Mab sat on his shoulder and leaned back against the side of his neck. Her hair tickled him as she turned her head to look at Arthur.

“She hurt me. She did this to me,” he said, his voice edged with frustration.

“She was afraid and volatile; she wasn’t in control. I don’t think she really knows _how_ to control it. It’s no excuse but… magic can’t always be anticipated when you’re like that,” Merlin said gently. “I’m not excusing what she did. Not at all. I’m just asking you not to hate her for what happened just yet.”

“I don’t. I couldn’t hate her even if I really wanted to,” Arthur said. “She’s all the family I have at the end of the day.”

“I know,” Merlin sighed quietly. He rubbed Arthur’s arm and hugged him closer to his side. Arthur didn’t protest; he leaned in more closely.

“The elders are coming,” Mab announced, springing off his shoulder.

Merlin stood up straight as a soft blue light emanating from the lake filled the clearing. A small crowd of Sidhe hovered before them. Merlin took a half-step in front of Arthur.

“What has happened?” the elder asked, his expression displeased.

“He’s been struck by powerful magic,” Merlin said. “Can you heal him?”

The Sidhe elder turned toward Arthur. Merlin saw recognition in his eyes and a sad twist form on his lips. He flew forward and placed a hand over Arthur’s heart. He pulled back as though burned.

“The magic has touched your heart, Arthur Pendragon,” he said in a low voice. “If it had been your head, it might have been simple, but the heart…. This curse will turn you to ice.”

Arthur turned even paler.

“But can he be healed?” Merlin pressed.

“It’s a difficult trick,” the elder said.

“An act of true love can heal his heart,” Mab interrupted. “It might not be so difficult.”

Merlin resolutely ignored the knowing look she gave him. Today was going to be one of those days when he really disliked Mab.

“Would a kiss work? From a true love?” one of the other elders asked.

“Yes, I should think so,” Mab said. She grinned gleefully.

“Why’s she giving you that look?” Arthur whispered.

“She’s a horrid person, that’s why,” Merlin said.

 _He’s engaged to someone else, Mab_ , he berated her. Mab’s expression didn’t falter.

_Doesn’t matter to me, little one. I know what I see._

“We need to get you to Sophia,” Merlin said, turning to face Arthur as he shuddered and his hair turned completely white. “Arthur! Stay with me. We’re going to get you to her and you’re going to be all right, okay?”

“Sophia?” he said blearily. His confusion dissolved into a complacent smile. It seemed terribly out of place in their situation.

When Arthur looked up at Merlin, he finally saw it. He’d thought it a trick of the light the last time they’d talked about Sophia, but there was no mistaking the red in Arthur’s blue eyes now. Mab bristled at his shoulder.

“There’s dark sorcery at work here,” she hissed.

“I know the hand who did this,” the elder said. Arthur watched him fly around his head, eventually stopping by Merlin’s ear. “You were too young to remember but we had two of our kind banished. They broke some of our most sacred laws.”

“No Sidhe would go to Camelot! Why would they?” Merlin asked.

“I cannot say for certain. You must be wary, Merlin. They are very dangerous and would kill if you stood in their way.”

“What do they want?”

“To return to Avalon, of course,” Mab said. She sat on Merlin’s shoulder and pulled at his scarf. “You must be sure it doesn’t happen.”

“But what’ll they do?”

“There are many rumors of what it takes to regain entry to our world,” said the elder. “I cannot say which are true, or which one they’re choosing to pursue. Be wary, Merlin. Protect the prince.”

“I’ll protect him with my life.”

It scared Merlin how true the words were. He’d known Arthur for hardly more than two days and he felt like his whole life had changed, perhaps for the better in some ways and worse in other ways. He’d barely had a purpose before and now – now he was overwhelmed with purpose. With Arthur. It felt right to be at the young prince’s side.

“Arthur?” he called. He found him sitting with Aithusa by a natural vent gushing warm air. “We need to go.”

“Just a minute,” Arthur said feebly, curling into Aithusa’s side.

Merlin grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Arthur bowled over right into Merlin’s arms, his lips brushing Merlin’s face as he fell. Merlin carefully righted him. Arthur looked like he was falling asleep on his feet. He cupped his face and called his name until Arthur opened his eyes.

“Stay with me, yeah? I’m taking you home now,” Merlin said.

“If you say so,” Arthur mumbled. He let Merlin guide him to Aithusa. She shifted her wings so they could climb on. Merlin got on behind Arthur and wrapped his arms around his waist securely. Arthur turned his face just enough for Merlin to see the look in his eyes – dark, a little scared, but so terribly content.

“I’m glad you’re here, Merlin. And… I’ll find your mother. I want you to be happy.”

“You really must be dying now if you’re saying nice things to me.”

He felt like he was choking on his own voice; the feeling only worsened when Arthur looked up, eyes glazed and weary, and smiled at Merlin like he’d just warmed his world by being there.

“It’s still true.”

Arthur was fading, and fading fast, his voice hardly a whisper. Merlin nudged Aithusa. He looked over his shoulder with many of the Sidhe were watching nervously.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Go,” said Mab urgently. “You were made for this. You’ll see!”

Merlin didn’t stay long enough to puzzle over her words.

“Fly, Aithusa. To Camelot,” he murmured in the dragon tongue. She spread her wings and pushed off the ground with almighty force. They cut through the air with grace and speed; dread grew in Merlin’s stomach, peaking when Camelot finally came into view.

* * *

Morgana  woke on a hard slab of a bed and found her hands chained to the floor, covered in cold metal. Her heart started to race. For a few torturous moments she had no idea where she was or why she wasn’t in her ice palace in the mountains. She stood up and felt the sting of fresh cuts and bruises; memories of the attack by Camelot’s reserve guard rushed back to her. They’d come early in the morning when she’d hardly risen from bed, still haunted by her meeting with Arthur. She shut her eyes, watching her palace shatter and crumble under her feet all over again. Their voices decrying her a monster were loud in her ears even now. Her anger finally shone through after years of tamping it down, her magic retaliating against her assailants with deadly precision.

Anger bubbled again now, but when she looked around now she saw no point to it. She was clearly back at the palace, locked in a cell like an enemy of the state. Out the window she saw Arthur was right – the fjords were not just frozen over but cloaked in a wretched winter storm raging continuously over Camelot. Horror and fear rapidly overtook her.

“I did that,” she breathed, gazing up at the heavy sky. “Oh, god.”

The door opened loudly. Morgana turned around and found herself face to face not with a guard but with Princess Sophia. She didn’t look at all like the sweet and simpering girl hanging off Arthur’s arm at the party just a few nights ago.

“You need to put an end to this,” she said, her voice smooth and unkind.

“You need to release me,” Morgana shouted.

“You’re a danger to Camelot,” she said. “I simply can’t let you go free, Your Majesty.”

“I’m the Queen of Camelot. Who gave you this authority?”

“Your brother,” she smiled. “My fiancé, in fact.”

Her dream flashed before her eyes, Sophia dragging Arthur under the icy waters and letting him drown there. She lunged forward, held back only by the chains, growling,

“If you touch a hair on Arthur’s head—”

Her expression hardened. It was an ugly look on her dulcet face.

“Arthur hasn’t returned from the mountains, not since he left looking for you,” she replied. “Put an end to this Morgana and I’ll make sure your sentence isn’t as severe as it could be.”

Morgana’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you see? I don’t know how!” she cried. She felt like her throat was closing up now. Sophia stared at her. “You need to let me go.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” she said.

She didn’t seem sorry at all, smiling as she left Morgana’s cell. Morgana let out a frustrated sound, only to fall to her knees when her legs suddenly gave way. The thought of Arthur suffering in the cold only made her feel worse. The walls were rapidly closing in around her. The tiny window behind her wasn’t nearly enough, but she knew it’d have to do. It was the only way – she needed to get out before they killed her for her magic. The unfeeling look in Sophia’s eyes told Morgana that was precisely what she planned to do.

Morgana watched familiar jagged ice start to form on the ceiling.

* * *

Aithusa landed at the end of the bridge connecting the castle and the town to the mainland. She ran all the way up to the closed gates, just barely stopping short of the walls. Merlin had to use magic to keep Arthur from falling out of the saddle, his arms wrapped tightly around him. He eased Arthur off Aithusa’s back.

“Arthur? We’re here,” Merlin said. Arthur opened his eyes slowly, looking up at Merlin from where he was half hunched over in pain. He smiled.

“Where are we?”

“Camelot. Tell the guards to take you to Sophia.”

“She’s really wonderful, Merlin. I want her face to be the last one I see at the end of the day,” he said through uneven breaths. Merlin felt unusually stung. He tipped Arthur’s head up; his eyes were glowing faintly red again. He could hear the guards and servants scrambling to open the gates, so he moved quickly. He let his magic blanket Arthur, wrapping him in warmth, sending him waves of strength. Merlin set him upright and brushed some snow off his shoulder.

“You’ll be okay,” Merlin heard himself say.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, starting to frown. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I can’t stay. The gates are closed again,” he said gently.

“But – you can’t go!”

“Arthur, just – get over there!” Merlin said, handling Arthur as gently as possible as the gates finally opened and a few servants rushed out to greet him. “Make sure he’s warm, okay? He’s very sick. And take him to Princess Sophia immediately.”

“Thank you,” one servant said, her eyes widening when she touched Arthur’s clammy skin. Another servant stared openly at his stark white hair. They huddled around Arthur and led him inside, murmuring amongst themselves. The gates were already creaking shut. Merlin walked forward, peering through the narrowing opening until all he saw was a sliver of Arthur’s back.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, but the gates closed soundly before their eyes could meet.

Merlin stared at the gate until Aithusa nudged him, knocking him a few steps forward. She let out a quiet, low whine. Merlin exhaled, chest hollow, feeling completely at a loss.

“Me too, love. But we need to go now,” he murmured.

Merlin turned around, prepared to leave, but Aithusa head-butted his stomach, halting him mid-step.

“We’re leaving,” he said firmly. She recoiled and walked far ahead of Merlin. He felt his insides crumple further.

Arthur was going to be fine. So long as Merlin worked out who cursed him and stopped them—

Merlin stopped short at the crest of the second hill on the mainland. Aithusa finally turned around and gave him an exasperated look.

“It’s Sophia, isn’t it?” he said, feeling sick all of a sudden. “She enchanted him. That’s why – god, _that’s_ why he fell in love with her so easily! And… if she’s one of the banished Sidhe… oh, _shit!_ ”

Aithusa cocked her head curiously but Merlin was already trudging back down toward the palace.

“She needs him for whatever spell she’s going to try to get back to Avalon,” he went on. Aithusa trotted after him. “I should’ve known! The life of a mortal prince is sacred to the Sidhe. That’s why they saved him in the first place that night! And that’s why I have to save him now.”

Aithusa knocked him over again, this time right into the snow. She dropped her head on his chest and watched him.

“What?” he demanded.

_That’s not why you need to save him, stupid._

Merlin blinked.

“You’ve never talked to me like that before.”

_I never needed to. Usually you’re smart enough to figure out what I’m trying to say without words._

“Your voice… it doesn’t sound very strong,” he said slowly.

_Someone hurt me when I was young, before you found me. Speaking is tiring._

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

_Hush. Now, why do you really think you ought to help him?_

“Because… Sophia doesn’t love him, and she can’t break the goddamn spell! Oh _shit_ , it’s even worse than I thought!” Merlin wailed. He twisted from under Aithusa’s head and made it halfway over the crest of the hill before stopping short.

_That’s still not—_

“Look,” Merlin said. That dread in his stomach was back in full swing.

A storm cloud had formed over the castle in Camelot, twisting and writhing as though in terrible pain. It was growing fast, too, its winds whipping out and throwing the snow up in the air.

 _It’s the Queen_ , Aithusa said. Her voice sounded reedy and tired already.

“This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

Aithusa spread her wings and waited. Merlin sighed.

“Fine, but if the winds get too strong, we’re walking. I don’t want you to get hurt, too.”

Aithusa breathed warmth onto Merlin’s hand where he placed it on her snout and nuzzled his palm. Merlin shook his head, shook off his smile.

“Wait!”

Merlin twisted around, already halfway onto Aithusa’s back; Mordred barreled out of the woods, tripping over a fallen branch on the way. The ice of his head was cracked and one of his hands was missing a few fingers. Even if he was made of ice, Merlin cringed in vague horror.

“What happened, Mordred?”

“They took Morgana,” he panted. “They destroyed her palace and took her back to Camelot. But she said you need to know Arthur’s in grave danger. Someone named Sophia wants to drown him.”

“Drown him?” Merlin repeated.

Mordred nodded fervently.

“And… she has Morgana, who’s the only one who can unfreeze the fjords,” Merlin realized. Merlin groaned. “This just got more complicated.”

Aithusa huffed restlessly. Merlin looked back over his shoulder at the violent storm forming over Camelot and the fjord just behind it.

“Are you coming or what?” Merlin said. Mordred clambered onto Aithusa’s back and wrapped his fragile, cold arms around Merlin’s waist. He pressed his cracked cheek to the middle of Merlin’s back and sighed.

“Does it hurt?” Merlin asked him.

Mordred shook his head, his face not leaving Merlin’s back.

“You’re warm,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Don’t melt,” Merlin warned. “Just hang on, alright? We’ll get you to Morgana and she’ll fix you.”

Mordred nodded and said nothing. Merlin nudged Aithusa with his heel and they were cutting through the air in seconds, hurtling toward the palace.

* * *

Arthur felt something shift in him the moment the gates shut and he lost sight of Merlin. His body hurt more and more with every step. He hated leaning on the servants so much, but by the time he reached the stairs he knew he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without help. His time was running out; Morgana’s magic pulsated in his chest like a chip of metal cutting deeper into his heart with every desperate beat it made.

He waited at the top of the stairs to catch his breath before letting the servants guide him to one of the sitting rooms. Sophia was there with a few of the dignitaries.

“Arthur! You’re okay!” she gasped, her face lighting up. Arthur smiled and took a few weak steps forward.

“Please, give us some time alone,” said Arthur. The servants and the dignitaries almost ran from the room, leaving Arthur clutching to Sophia’s small frame.

“You’re hurt,” she said. “What happened?”

“Morgana. Her magic—”

“You said she wouldn’t hurt you!”

“I was wrong,” Arthur said. A fit of painful coughs cut him off.

“You’re freezing, too! Come by the fire,” she said. She tried to rub warmth into his hands as she led him to the chair by the fireplace, but her silken gloves did little to create warmth. “Is there any way to fix this?”

“There is but… it’s silly. I need you, though,” Arthur said. His voice sounded distant and soft to his ears. “She hurt my heart, and only true love can heal me. The magic is stupid and sentimental like that.”

“Oh. I see. And you’ll die otherwise?” asked Sophia, her brow furrowed.

“I’ll turn to ice, apparently,” Arthur snorted. “What a terrible fate.”

Tension in Arthur’s limbs started to bleed away; the change he’d felt in him upon entering the castle vibrated and shook tenuously, Morgana’s magic threatening every fiber in Arthur’s being. Arthur sat up, watching Sophia lean in closer. She touched the side of his face with her hand, stroking his cheek.

“You need true love to save you,” Sophia murmured. “You need _my_ love.”

Arthur shut his eyes, too tired to keep them open, and waited for Sophia’s lips, the warmth of her mouth on him, to give him life again.

“Oh, Arthur. If only there was someone who truly loved you.”

Her warmth receded instantly, and then some. Arthur’s eyes snapped open to see Sophia pouring a pitcher of water over the fire, the room’s temperature dropping several degrees instantly.

“No! S-stop!” he croaked. “What are you doing?”

“I can feel the touch of the Sidhe on you, Arthur. They healed you once. It made it easier for my magic to reach you,” Sophia said. She crossed the room and opened the windows at the back. “But it was too easy, Arthur. You, desperate for love and attention, cooped up in this place for years and years – I’m only lucky I was the first woman you encountered beyond the gates! It made my job so much easier. And Morgana – oh, I certainly didn’t expect her to help me quite so much.”

“W-what are you saying?” Arthur said. He tried to make his voice sharp, but he could barely muster a whisper. Sophia stood over him where he sat in the winged chair.

“It turns out you’re the one who’s going to help me,” she said, her voice sweet as ever.

“To return to Avalon,” he said hollowly. “I can’t believe—”

“I worked hard to persuade you, my love,” she said, mocking, stroking the side of Arthur’s face with a silken hand, her magic tingling under his skin, “but you were easily persuaded.”

“I’ll die first, Sophia. I’ll be of no use to you.”

“I promise you, my magic can override Morgana’s when the time comes. She has, essentially, preserved you on ice for me,” she said. “Now. Get comfortable. I’ll see you when all this is over.”

“You won’t win this. Morgana’s magic is much stronger than yours—”

 _As is Merlin’s_ , he thought, but the less she knew the better.

“Arthur, don’t you see? I’ve already won. The Queen is as good as dead, just like you.”

She swept out the door and set two locks in place. The room darkened even more, the temperature falling with every passing moment. Arthur crawled to the door but it was to no avail. He didn’t even have the strength to reach the handle. He collapsed back against the wall and curled his legs close to his chest, struggling to take a full breath. It was like inhaling knives.

_It’s only for a moment. I’ll fight my way out of here._

His fingertips crackled and turned icy blue.

* * *

They were trying to break down the door to her cell but the lock was jammed with ice. Morgana could feel her powers spiraling, growing more and more erratic with every moment. She couldn’t control it anymore. She yanked hard on her chains, ice crawling up the metal and twisting the links until she finally broke free.

“Get in there!” she heard Sophia screech.

Morgana turned to the exterior wall and her magic blasted it apart. The storm welcomed her gladly and rejoiced in a flurry of gusting winds and falling ice, but Morgana didn’t feel it at all. She only had eyes for the far end of the fjord – for safety.

* * *

Arthur was just about to reach the window when he heard the loud explosion elsewhere in the castle. He pushed past the last few feet and climbed onto the window seat. The snow was only getting worse.

Arthur heard cracking behind him. He spun around and saw ice creeping into the room through the spaces around the door. It started progressing at an alarming rate the moment it breached the room.

“Shit,” he breathed. He looked back again at the open window. It was a long drop but he could easily slide down the roofs and ride the massive snow drifts to the ground. His hands, though, were turning bluer by the second.

If he stayed, there was every chance Sophia would come back and use him to go back to Avalon. If he went, he could die faster, but at least she wouldn’t get what she wanted.

He could feel the last of her magic stripping away from his bones, leaving him even barer and more exposed to the cold. He rested his head against the window frame.

 _I was so stupid. I messed everything up,_ he thought.

Just as he was about to heave himself through the window, the locks on the door _clicked_. Arthur turned around and found a battered and cracked Mordred entering the room.

“Mordred?” Arthur said. His voice sounded like rattling glass.

“Arthur! Oh, good, you’re alive!” he exclaimed. He looked around and ran toward the fireplace. Mordred started shoveling wood through the grate and carefully lit a match.

“Mordred, don’t—”

“It’s okay,” he said, dropping the match on the wood. It caught fire easily, much to Mordred’s delight. Even the little bit of warmth that reached Arthur on the far side of the room felt incredible. Mordred was at his side and helping Arthur back across the room before he knew what was happening. Mordred touched his blue fingertips; ice sliding on ice was an unpleasant sound.

Mordred deposited Arthur on the floor by the fire. Arthur shut his eyes, basking in the warmth, only to open them when Mordred threw a blanket over his shoulders. He looked awfully pleased with himself, even if half his face was cracking. It looked like it was getting worse, too, there by the fire.

“You shouldn’t stay so close,” Arthur said, teeth chattering. He took a step back and sat cross-legged next to Arthur. “How did you get here?”

“Merlin,” Mordred replied. “He sent me ahead but he should be here shortly.”

“Merlin’s here?” Arthur asked. “He came back? Why?”

“To help you and Morgana. Isn’t that obvious?”

His heart pounded and his spirit soared. The warmth of the fire seemed like the raging heat of the summer sun at the very idea of Merlin having come back for him.

“He could’ve gone back to his life but – he’s here. Where is he, Mordred?”

“Oh, no, don’t you get up now!” Mordred snapped. He pushed Arthur back on the floor with his frail arms. “Merlin’s fine. He’s trying to stop Sophia from getting to your sister.”

“Morgana’s here?”

Mordred nodded. He told Arthur about how Camelot soldiers destroyed her palace and dragged her back to the palace dungeons.

“Merlin said Sophia was supposed to fix you,” Mordred frowned.

“She couldn’t. She… I was wrong about her,” Arthur sighed.

“She wants to drown you and harvest your soul,” Mordred said, deadpan. “You were very wrong about her, Arthur.”

Arthur had to laugh. “You sounded so much like Morgana just then!”

“Well, she made me. I’m part of her, then, aren’t I?”

“I suppose so,” Arthur agreed, strange as the logic was. The fire flickered and died a bit. Arthur gave a violent shiver.

“Even if Merlin stops Sophia from getting to Morgana, I’m still going to die,” Arthur said faintly. Mordred pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“Maybe not,” he said.

“I need an act of true love—”

“Can you think of no one you love? No one who might love you?”

“I thought Sophia did—”

“Without magic involved,” Mordred interrupted. Arthur glanced away.

“No. I can’t imagine who’d love me enough to break this curse.”

A terrible gust of wind shattered the window, throwing the frames wide open and extinguishing the fire in one great blow. Arthur cried out as though struck by a blade. Mordred was helping him up.

“We need to go!” he kept saying.

“I can’t—”

“The ice coming into the room is going to kill us before the curse stops your heart,” Mordred said.

Arthur looked at him, his eyes blurry and watery from the wind pushing into the room.

“We need Merlin,” Mordred insisted. “ _You_ need Merlin, and we need to leave.”

 _Merlin_.

Mordred was already climbing through the window and helping Arthur through by the time he heard the ice breaking through the wooden ceiling of the room. Arthur hauled himself over the windowpane and climbed onto the roof. It was much colder outside than he remembered, and the snow was terribly slick. He started to slide down the roof immediately, Mordred tumbling with him. The snow got everywhere under his clothes, chilling him even worse. His frozen fingers barely caught onto a ledge in desperation to slow his fall. Mordred clung to his shoulder, scrambling for purchase on the slick roof behind him.

A loud _whooshing_ sound cut through the silence. Arthur craned his neck to see behind him and just barely caught a glimpse of Merlin and Aithusa descending within the palace courtyard.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted. Or at least, tried to shout – his throat was dry and cracking, as though the ice had perfused even there.

His heart thumped at the sight of Merlin on his dragon, sliding off smoothly, striding toward the castle with utter surety in his step. He felt a surge of strength and hope and even joy at the mere sight of him.

“He’s going for Morgana,” Mordred shouted over the wind. “Go! You might be able to catch him!”

Arthur almost asked why he should try to do that when it hit him clear as day. It’d be a risk, there was no telling if Merlin felt anything close to what Arthur apparently felt for him, no matter what Mordred claimed, but—

It was a solid enough maybe for Arthur to go for it.

“Hold on,” he said. He let go of the ledge and resumed their fall.

* * *

Morgana ran between the ships frozen in place out onto the lake, her shoes skidding on the rough ice. He could hear the horses gathering up behind her, their neighing carried by the wind. She went faster. If she could reach the other side, she could leave. Camelot would be safe, frozen though it would be. Arthur wouldn’t die at Sophia’s hand, or from her magic—

“Queen Morgana!”

She spun around. Sophia blazed through the blizzard atop a great white horse, swathed in a golden cloak lined with white fur. She cut a beautiful and mildly terrifying figure. Morgana, however, only saw her as the figure standing over her dead brother – an inevitability if she didn’t hold her ground against Sophia now.

“Stay back!” Morgana snarled. Her magic was volatile. _She_ was volatile as she rose to full height, her back straight as a rod.

Sophia looked down her nose.

“I won’t let you hurt my brother,” Morgana said. One of Sophia’s eyebrows rose questioningly but her mouth remained a thin line. “I know what you’re going to do to him and I won’t let it happen. I’ll never end this winter.”

Sophia flashed her a blinding smile.

“You can’t control your powers. That much is clear. You’re no threat to me,” she said.

“Are you willing to take that risk?” said Morgana. She peered up at Sophia and her magic prickled as she came closer, still atop her horse.  

“It’s no use. I already have what I want,” Sophia drawled.

“If anything happened to Arthur, I swear, I will—”

“You were arrested for treason, Your Majesty,” Sophia interrupted. Morgana caught her breath, her rage simmering a little lower.

“What are you talking about? What grounds could you have for accusing the queen of treason?” she demanded.

“Your dearest brother Arthur, in fact,” Sophia said. “He returned from the mountains cold as ice. He said you struck him, and he was dying because of it. I saw him _die_ , Your Majesty, and it was at _your_ hand. That is your crime.”

Morgana’s heart stuttered to a stop. She was vaguely aware of the storm halting when her breath caught in her throat, the wind stopping and silence overtaking all of Camelot when she dropped to her knees.

“He’s not dead. He can’t be!” she said faintly. Her heart suddenly began to race. Everything about her body hurt and ached and seemed to want to fold in itself.

“He is. I watched him die. He knew it was your fault and he hated you for it,” she sneered. “You gave me what I wanted, Your Majesty. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

The ice on the lake yielded to her fingernails where she dug them into the surface, desperate for grounding of some kind. She felt like the world was falling apart around her. All that time she’d spent keeping away from Arthur, just to be sure she would never hurt him so terribly again – it was all for nothing. She managed to murder him anyway. The magic couldn’t be a gift, no matter what her father had claimed all those years ago. There was no way it could be anything _but_ a curse; Uther never considered it much of a gift, and Morgana now agreed with all her heart.

* * *

Aithusa caught sight of Arthur crossing the courtyard, Mordred trailing behind with a hand still latched to his belt.

“Where’s Merlin?” he asked her. When he reached her she was whimpering, her scales flashing and bristling nervously. She eased a little when Arthur petted her flank.

“What’s wrong?” he frowned.

Aithusa nodded toward the lake. Arthur went to the stairs and looked out. He watched Morgana’s figure run frantically into the storm, followed closely by Sophia on horseback. Even from there he could see – or, perhaps sense – the powerful staff tied to her horse’s saddle. The blue of the orb on the head of the staff glowed like a beacon.

Morgana didn’t know. Morgana was horrified and desperate to get out of Camelot, the home that’d turned on her so viciously, but she had no idea what sort of monster was on her heels. It was Arthur’s fault. He should’ve seen sooner. He shouldn’t have provoked her into lashing out. He should’ve trusted and listened when she told him to let things be.

He didn’t think twice about going after them now and ignored Mordred’s shouts and Aithusa’s panicked crying. He didn’t even think of Merlin, who probably could have saved them all.

* * *

Merlin stopped short. He’d barely gotten past the second set of guards in the palace when Aithusa cried out to him. Her voice in his mind was scratchy from overuse.

_He’s here! Come back, Merlin!_

He turned right around and sped toward the courtyard. By the time he reached Aithusa, Arthur was nowhere to be seen. She blew hot air toward the staircase leading to the lake. Merlin ran and almost slipped on the top steps. The storm had cleared. Sophia was on horseback stalking Morgana, whose pain Merlin could feel striking him in tense, anguished waves even from afar.

Arthur was running right for them.

“Idiot!” Merlin muttered. He hoped to god he didn’t slip and crack his skull in his haste to catch up.

For someone who was rapidly turning to ice, Arthur was pretty damn fast. The closer Merlin got to him, the closer he got to Sophia and Morgana. Their warring magical presences were like a black hole to Merlin – they drew him in, but they made him feel almost powerless. Almost.

He saw the staff. It called to him like a song and soared right into his open hand the moment he was in range. Sophia didn’t even notice its absence. She went straight for the sword on her hip. She slid off her horse with supernatural grace, her long cloak trailing after her. Morgana, nearly prone on the ground clearly in distress, didn’t seem to notice Sophia loudly unsheathing her blade and raising it high over her head.

Merlin was two seconds from casting a spell with the staff and sending Sophia as far away from Camelot as possible, or even shouting Morgana’s name, but Arthur, the bloody cabbagehead, beat him to it.

* * *

“No!” he cried. Arthur lunged into the space between Morgana and Sophia just as the blade came down. His right hand automatically went to his waist to draw a sword that didn’t exist and his left went up bearing an imaginary shield.

He never felt the touch of the blade. In fact, he lost sight and taste and any sense of the cold all at once.

Arthur Pendragon ceased to be in the short span of a half-second.

* * *

Merlin watched as Sophia was thrown far back by the force of Morgana’s magic finally taking hold over Arthur. He felt her magic flicker and darken. A scream caught in Merlin’s throat when he looked back and saw not Arthur but an ice sculpture version of the man, just as lifelike as Mordred, only much less alive.

Morgana let out a horrified, horrible sound when she turned around. She stood up and recoiled when she touched her brother’s shoulder.

“No,” she said. “No, no, no this can’t – it can’t– Arthur, _no_.”

She started to sob in earnest, throwing her arms around Arthur and clinging to him.

Merlin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the look on Arthur’s face – a blend of fear, determination, and love – even as he approached Morgana. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, but she looked around the other way. Merlin followed her line of sight to where Sophia lay crumpled on the ice.

“She needs to be stopped,” she whispered. “ _She’s_ the dangerous one.”

“She is,” Merlin agreed. She turned around suddenly at the sound of his tenuous voice. “Don’t hurt her. There are others who are better suited to dealing with her kind.”

“Don’t _hurt_ her? Do you know what she did?” Morgana said, rising to her feet. Her voice was tense and Merlin took a step back. The air between them started to spark with magic. The anger in her eyes falter. “You were there with Arthur yesterday.”

Morgana lunged past Merlin the moment she distracted him. Merlin skidded into the way. They both hit the ice hard.

“Don’t! Listen – the Sidhe will want to take care of her—”

“I don’t give a damn, she tried to murder me.”

“She would’ve, if it hadn’t been for Arthur! She could still do it, too,” Merlin added. He could feel Sophia’s magic wakening slowly. Morgana didn’t seem to notice. She struggled to shove him aside, her eyes red and shining in spite of her grief-stricken fury.

“And I ended up killing him anyway,” she rasped. She failed to choke back another wretched sob and Merlin took the moment to push her back and off him. Sitting up, seeing Arthur again, almost anew, Merlin felt a sob of his own creeping up again.

Morgana looked tense and ready to make a dash for Sophia again when Merlin’s magic started to twinge. He frowned. The look on Morgana’s face told him she felt it, too. They looked all around, but in the end they never needed to look far.

“Morgana!”

They both turned back around and found Arthur – beautiful, fully golden-haired Arthur, radiant in the sunlight peeking through the clouds – standing before them, made of flesh rather than ice, beaming like he’d been gone for a thousand years rather than a few minutes.

Merlin looked away while they hugged tightly and whispered words of love and forgiveness. It wasn’t his place to be there for it. He knocked the staff against the ice a few times. It started to shake and wobble under his feet.

“Uh. My lady? The ice is thawing, and we’re on a lake—” Merlin began.

“It’s thawing?” she blinked. Her expression relaxed, then turned wonderfully radiant. “Of course! I think – I know how to undo this now.”

She offered Arthur a soft, thankful smile before shutting her eyes and raising her hands. Merlin was certainly powerful, possibly more powerful than Morgana at the end of the day, but he’d never beheld magic on such a massive scale, lifting a glacial storm from an entire kingdom all at once and letting the summer bloom again in all its beauty.

Morgana was beaming just as widely as Arthur when it was over. They were no longer on ice but on a boat recovered from the depths of the fjord. Aithusa landed lightly next to him. Morgana only startled a little. Aithusa took several steps toward her and licked her face before Morgana could even ask to pet her. Merlin laughed.

“She likes you,” he grinned.

“I guess so,” she said, smiling brightly back at Merlin. “Thank you. You helped keep Arthur safe.”

“He wouldn’t have lasted an hour out there without me,” Merlin said.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Morgana laughed.

“Hey! I just died! Shouldn’t you be nicer to me?” Arthur said. Merlin shook his head.

“That was five whole minutes ago, Arthur. We’ve all moved past it,” he said cheekily. Arthur met his gaze and something seemed to click into place between them. Arthur didn’t offer an equally cheeky response, nor a scowl or any glare. He just smiled in response, his eyes soft and open, and perhaps a little hopeful.

“You’re both a tad sickening,” Morgana announced. “Go snog in the corner while I get Sophia into a cell of some kind.”

Morgana turned away and walked to the front end of the boat, looking over the side where Sophia was surely floundering to stay afloat.

“You know, for a woman who according to Morgana wanted to drown me and harvest my soul, it’s a bit ironic she doesn’t really know how to swim,” remarked Arthur.

Merlin laughed. He felt nervous. He had no idea why, but he did, more and more with every step that brought him and Arthur closer together.

“You heading back to the woods, Merlin?”

“I thought I might hang around Camelot a bit. My business might start picking up again,” Merlin replied. Arthur beamed brighter than the sun, though his smile was gentle, almost understated.

“Good. You should definitely stay.” 


	3. Epilogue

All it took for Camelot to fully welcome back their queen was the truth. Once the story got out of the true nature of Princess Sophia of Tir-Mor and her machinations against Arthur and Morgana, most of Camelot saw the nippy weather brought on by Morgana’s panicked magic as a relatively harmless cold front. It was all public information by the time they all returned from the lake with Sophia in tow, bound in icy cuffs.

Morgana, however, would not go on without addressing the people of Camelot. She spoke before the crowd the very next morning.

“I am sorry for the trouble and stress I caused Camelot in the last few days. I ask that you let me work to regain your trust and let me be the ruler this wonderful kingdom deserves. Magic… is not something to hate or fear. It is a gift, like a soldier’s skill with a sword; it can be trained and learned, and it all comes down to how the person uses it. I want to show you that it can be used for good. I want to set a good example for the future of Camelot, one in which the Pendragon family and magic are not at odds, neither by law or in spirit.”

Her reception was warm and open. Her desire to do right by her past actions came across to the people without a shadow of doubt. The fact that she permanently opened the gates again certainly won their favor as well.

* * *

Merlin lingered in Camelot for eight long months, lasting the heat of summer and icy winter through to early spring, before the Sidhe envoy finally arrived to take Sophia away. Buds on the trees were already starting to open by the time they came to Camelot.

Over the course of his stay, Merlin helped Arthur and Morgana in their dealings with the Sidhe. He helped coordinate the arrival of a few of the servants of the Sidhe elders and even arranged for Mab to come and speak to Morgana about her magic. Mab ended up coming and going from Camelot for the duration of Merlin’s stay there. He too came and went from the palace, though he lived in a little house in the town of Camelot. He chatted with servants, hung about the kitchens from time to time, and even spent time with Mordred, who Morgana quickly fixed and created a wintry bubble for him to stay intact through the seasons.

Merlin quickly befriended the queen, as they often teamed up against Arthur in matters of teasing and making him look all kinds of silly. They spoke of magic, and Merlin saw she got real comfort out of those conversations, perhaps more than from the information she got from Mab. Merlin watched as she taught Arthur everything their father had taught her about ruling Camelot, watched as Arthur drank it all in like a parched man at an oasis. Merlin often wanted to leave during these sessions, but he stayed for Arthur’s sake. He watched Arthur bloom into a more confident young man, radiant in every way, just and noble and kind, and while his personality was still obnoxious from time to time, Merlin found he had it in his heart to forgive him for it.

He saw Arthur often even outside of these sessions and advising meetings, even more in the winter when the weather was often too bad for Merlin to return home and even once for Arthur to return to the palace. It was a wonderful, frustrating thing for Merlin. Every time they spent more than a few minutes together, even if they could be alone as they’d been on the mountain, which turned out to be entirely rare (that time in the winter at Merlin’s house was an anomaly, and the memories of sleeping beside Arthur on his bed, pressed together for warmth between his drafty walls, kept him warm through the rest of the cold months), Merlin only longed for more time – for more of Arthur.

He wasn’t blind or stupid. He knew there was something between them. But Arthur was still a prince, and a handsome one at that. They’d been through an ordeal together that created the sort of bond Merlin probably never would find with someone else. Given both of their tendencies to lead solitary lives, that probability was more of a certainty.

Yet Merlin still doubted and wondered why Arthur would choose him, a formerly homeless recluse with a thing for dragons, over his pick of anyone in Camelot and the kingdoms beyond. He couldn’t come up with a good reason, and he didn’t want to ask Arthur for fear of, well, whatever the honest answer was, and for fear of disappointing him.

When word of the Sidhe envoy’s arrival reached him, Merlin jumped into packing up everything in his tiny house in the town of Camelot. Aithusa whined through the whole process, but he managed to cram everything into their packs. Merlin was just setting everything aside in a neat pile when the front door opened and let in a rush of cool air.

“Arthur,” Merlin berated without looking up, “I know you’re a prince but you don’t have to be a prat about it.”

“You never knock when you come see me at the palace,” said Arthur, sitting in a comfortable sprawl at Merlin’s table.

“That’s different. I’m treating you like an equal. _You’re_ being rude.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Arthur asked. Merlin heard the frown in his voice and looked up from his pile of packs.

“The Sidhe have come for Sophia, so I figured….”

“You’re going to leave with them,” said Arthur. His eyes were wide, making him look terribly young. Merlin resisted the urge to brush the hair of his forehead and press a kiss to his golden skin. “Don’t you like it here?”

Merlin’s heart nearly broke at the look on his face, the sound of his voice, the intense fondness that gripped Merlin’s chest like a metal band.

“I do! Of course I do. It’s just – my life has always been _out there_. That’s how I’ve made my living. I don’t know how to do anything else,” Merlin admitted, only to laugh, “but you’ve already pointed out how useless I can be.”

“You have your magic. You’re far from useless.”

“Just because it’s all accepted and people are using it openly doesn’t mean I’m ready for that,” Merlin huffed.

“Sorry. I know we talked about this, O Prophesied Powerful One,” Arthur said in an extravagantly reverent tone. He should never have let Mab tell Arthur _anything_. Merlin stuck his tongue out at him, finally making Arthur smile. “I’ll find something for you to do.”

“I don’t think—”

“I won’t even make you wear a funny hat this time.”

That dinner at the palace Morgana held in his honor a month after her return was one Merlin knows Arthur will never let him live down. He was _never_ letting Arthur choose his clothes for him again.

“I appreciate that,” Merlin said dryly, “but I still don’t think I should stay.”

“Would you stay if I asked you to?”

Merlin looked at Arthur curiously. The waning afternoon sun burnished him in gold, making him all the more impossibly beautiful to behold as Arthur rose from the chair and crossed the room to where Merlin stood. He looked like a god, a boy now of seventeen becoming a man who could change the world, but he looked at Merlin like he was the only thing that mattered.

“Is Prince Arthur asking? Or—”

“Just Arthur. Your friend,” he said, his voice low and soft. The proximity made Merlin dizzy; he shut his eyes against it.

“I—”

Arthur took Merlin’s hand and swiftly said,

“I’d like you to come with us on the journey back to Avalon. Morgana’s decided to go with them for two months to learn from them.”

“Ah. So that’s why she met with Mab,” Merlin murmured. It was the most he could manage while Arthur absently rubbed different patterns on the back of his hand with his thumb, his ring running cool along Merlin’s hot skin.

“Will you come?”

“Arthur—”

“Just come, Merlin. I’m not going to make you stay, but come with us, and you can give me your answer once we return.”

“You’re not going to try and bribe me, are you?”

“Bribe? Me? I am an honorable prince, Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, feigning affront and clapping his hand over his heart. Merlin giggled. Arthur, his cat-like grin softening to a smile Merlin’s only ever seen directed at him, added, “I just want you to be happy. I’ve told you before.”

“You were delirious and dying,” Merlin blinked.

“It’s still true. I don’t forget things like that easily.”

Merlin glanced away and watched Aithusa for a few moments. She padded over and kept trying to tip Merlin over, which would have conveniently sent Merlin right into Arthur’s arms. She batted her snout away and sighed loudly.

“So when are we leaving for Avalon?”

He didn’t know who was happier, Arthur or Aithusa.

* * *

The forest was the young pale green of leaves beginning to grow, the spaces between the branches filled with yellow light as they made their way through. The Sidhe had forced Sophia back into her true form before binding her in their shackles, then put her out of sight. Most of the Sidhe stayed ahead but Mab stuck with Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, and Aithusa – and Gwen, who Morgana recently found living not a block down the road from Merlin, and who volunteered to accompany her, once the Sidhe said it was okay.

Arthur and Merlin chattered the whole way there, shoving and teasing. Arthur in the back of his mind was still trying to work out why Merlin didn’t want to stay in Camelot, but the answer wasn’t becoming any more apparent. So he savored the few fleeting touches he could get and filed away Merlin’s laugh and smile and the way his eyes got all bright when he got excited and rambled about something or another.

He really wished Merlin would stay, but Arthur couldn’t make him. The thought of him going and Arthur returning to the quiet palace life he’d lived before was unthinkable, even with the gates open.

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s wrist suddenly.

“What?”

“Were you listening to anything I just said?”

“Er.”

“This is the future of Camelot, ladies and gentlemen,” Merlin muttered. Arthur poked him between two ribs, cackling when Merlin yelped and jumped.

“What did you want to say now?”

“I _said_ we’re going to need to hang back while they open the gates to Avalon. Just a precaution. Once a bunny got too close and got sucked in by accident.”

“Oh. Is that a bad thing, then?”

“It’s a strange place,” Merlin said, his lips twisting into a grimace. “They say only certain people can go there and return. Some say it’s where the dead go, or that it’s the land of eternal youth.”

“Have you been there?”

“I went once, when I was young and sick. The day they found me, I’d run away from the orphanage. It was winter and it’d been so cold and I was out there for days without even a jacket. I didn’t get really sick until after they’d taken me in, but the elders said it was all right for me to go, just that once,” Merlin said.

“That’s… odd.”

“A bit, yeah. But I’m okay now,” he said, grinning again.

Arthur looked around. He could feel someone’s presence in the woods, and he mentally urged them to stay back. Aithusa disappeared, bounding into the forest, before Arthur could tell her to stop.

“She’ll be fine,” Merlin said breezily. He sobered quickly. “Don’t you want to go say goodbye to her?”

“I already said my goodbyes. Maybe you should go, then.”

“Arthur, I hardly know her—”

“Just go, Merlin. She won’t hurt you,” Arthur said. He shoved Merlin lightly and waited until he was talking to Morgana to run into the forest and seek out Aithusa.

“Come on, you great ball of fluff! I can’t have you attackin—”

“She’s not attacking anyone. She’s very sweet,” a woman’s voice said. Arthur stopped walking and looked to his left.

He hadn’t met her yet. He’d sent people out to search and search. He had a feeling Merlin might be tempted to leave if the Sidhe left Camelot sooner, so he begged them to draw out their stay as long as possible. It turned out it took two whole months for Arthur’s people to finally find Merlin’s mother – and here she finally was, just as they’d arranged, though sitting on a log with Aithusa’s head on her lap, the dragon purring like a kitten, wasn’t exactly what Arthur had expected.

“Hunith,” he said. He offered his hand to her. “I’m Arthur.”

“I know,” she said mildly. “Sire,” she added.

“No need for that. Lord knows Merlin doesn’t bother with titles,” Arthur said with a smile.

“He’s still out there?” Hunith asked, squinting through the trees.

“The Queen wanted a word before he left,” said Arthur. “She’d like him to stay on and help me rule while she’s gone, seeing as I don’t know anything about magic.”

“Yes, and so many of the changes in Camelot revolve around magic now. Merlin is… special.”

“I know,” Arthur said.

“I can see that you do,” Hunith said, smiling warmly. “Thank you for finding me, Arthur. I never would’ve known where to start looking for him.”

“I just want Merlin to be happy,” Arthur said.

“I know you do,” she said. She reached and touched his cheek with her palm. The skin was warm and rough, worn by years of hard work, but Arthur had never felt the touch of a mother like this before. It was unexpected, but it was perfect.

“Arthur? Where the hell did you—?”

Arthur took a step aside and cleared his throat. Merlin was standing on the other side of the clearing staring at them and Aithusa like he’d never seen them before. His jaw hung slack.

“The flies are going to make a home on your tongue if you keep it open any longer, Merlin,” Hunith said eventually, smiling.

Merlin laughed, or cried, or both, and threw himself into her arms. Arthur took that as his cue to silently leave the clearing and go back to the clearing to wait.

* * *

Merlin pecked his mother’s cheek before leaving the house and making his way to the palace, all his bags balanced between his shoulders. Aithusa wasn’t terribly happy, but he promised to return for her once he knew she had a place to stay in the castle. The air was truly pleasantly warm for the first time this season. The steward’s man was waiting for him by the gate and led him to his chambers, which were far bigger than Merlin felt was necessary for one man. The bed alone was large enough for Merlin, his mother, and Aithusa to comfortably sleep without encountering one another.

“Where’s Arthur right now?”

The servant bristled.

“Sorry. Could to tell me where I could find Prince Arthur?”

“He’s waiting for you in his chambers.”

“Oh,” Merlin said. He hadn’t been there yet. He felt his face heat up inexplicably, though the look the servant gave him may have played a role. “Where is that?”

“Around the corner. If you wish I can take you there now.”

“Yes, please,” Merlin said. Seeing Arthur was more important than pretty much everything else now. He dropped all his bags on the ground and hurried after the servant. Arthur’s chambers really were just around the corner; he’d expected to get lost, but the palace had a surprisingly simple layout.

“Dinner is at seven, sir.”

Then the servant disappeared, leaving Merlin and a closed door.

Arthur had been quiet on the way back from Avalon. He’d looked happy though. Merlin had thanked him a thousand times over for finding his mother, but Arthur didn’t want to hear it. He just shook his head and told him it was nothing.

It wasn’t _nothing_. It was something, and it was something big, and Merlin wasn’t prepared to let it go.

* * *

Someone knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Arthur called.

The heavy door opened, a trickle of cool air from the hall following his visitor. Arthur tried to keep his room bright and warm with sunlight and full of fresh air from the open windows. No one could blame Arthur for his aversion to the cold now.

“Arthur?”

He looked up from where he was poring over papers at his desk.

“Merlin! You’re here!” he exclaimed. “Fantastic. How do you like your room?”

“It’s incredible. You really didn’t need to put me somewhere so – so fancy,” Merlin said. “I’d have been fine with the servants.”

“You’re not a servant, Merlin. You’re an advisor.”

“Do you put all your advisors around the corner from your royal apartments?”

Arthur knew colored spectacularly at that. Merlin laughed brightly.

“I’m kidding,” he smiled. “It’s wonderful. Thank you, Arthur.”

“It was nothing.”

“You keep saying that but I’m pretty sure it _is_ something,” Merlin said, sidling a little closer to where Arthur stood leaning against the front of his desk. He didn’t have anywhere to go. “Have you done all this so I might be more likely to stay in Camelot once Morgana gets back?”

Arthur felt like he’d swallowed his tongue and then thrown it right back up.

“What? No! God, no! I wouldn’t dare – Merlin, I’d never—”

Merlin laughed again and shook Arthur’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. I didn’t think so, but I wanted to be sure.”

“I just want you to be happy, wherever that may be,” Arthur said. “I appreciate you stepping into help me now.”

“Yes, well, it’s become a bit of a habit, apparently, wanting to help you,” Merlin said. “Wanting to see you happy, too.”

Arthur blinked owlishly at Merlin.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Merlin said, slowly coming closer to Arthur again until he knew Merlin could feel the nervous warmth radiating through Arthur’s clothes, “and Morgana said something rather smart before she left.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to be happy, and you want me to be happy. She said if we pulled our heads out of our arses we might see we could solve both problems by being happy together.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, his eyes widening a fraction. He swallowed dryly as a flush crept up his neck. “She thinks she’s smart, doesn’t she?”

“I think she’s right. I’ll stay, if that’s all right by you,” Merlin said.

It took Arthur a moment to hear what Merlin had said.

“You’ll stay?” he said in disbelief.

Merlin nodded so excitedly he seemed to bounce on his toes, grinning from ear to ear. Arthur let out a happy laugh and enveloped Merlin in a great hug that lifted him right off his feet.

“I’m so glad,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of Merlin’s ear, the ridge of his cheekbone. Merlin chuckled. Arthur felt it rumble in his chest pressed up against him.

“I figured you would be,” Merlin replied.

He set Merlin down and made to remove his hands, suddenly unsure of exactly what all this meant. Merlin grabbed his wrists and stopped him where he was. Arthur’s mouth went dry and he tightened his hold around Merlin, drawing him close again.

“Merlin—”

“Oh, just kiss me, you clotpole.”

“Clotpole?” Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin beat him to it and kissed Arthur full on the mouth. It was nothing like kissing Sophia – this was harder and softer and so much _more_ of everything, more than Arthur ever imagined a silly thing like a kiss could be. Everything around them fell away, leaving just him and Merlin and the warmth between them, every touch on Arthur’s skin by Merlin’s hand like a brush with fire, every kiss a strike of lightning, making his heart race and happiness bubble and froth in his chest. It was perfect, simply because it was _finally_ Merlin he was kissing.

“So,” Merlin said, his lips grazing Arthur’s mouth as he spoke. “I promise I’m not enchanting you to like me.”

Arthur chuckled and said softly,

“Trust me, Merlin. You wouldn’t need magic to do that.”


End file.
